


Nightmares

by yeditsaj



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-01 16:26:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 41,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2779862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeditsaj/pseuds/yeditsaj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mysterious gift box should not be able to transport people to another world. But it can because it has, and John and Sherlock have found themselves lost in a mind-bending mystery that even Sherlock may not even be able to figure out without help. With time stopped and something in the darkness trying to kill them, Sherlock and John are forced to join together with Dean and Sam Winchester along with their friend Castiel, and the strange but smart Doctor. Will they be able to come out alive or will they succumb to their greatest fears?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Issues raised in this story may include triggers for some mental illnesses. If you find yourself affected, please seek help.

Chapter one: 

_Riiiiiiiiiing_

“Door!”

Sherlock sighed as he glanced up from his work. John’s habit of stating the obvious was really starting to irritate him.

“Congratulations, John. You’re observations are getting better every day.”

“I wasn’t pointing out the obvious, Sherlock,” shouted John, his voice muffled through the walls. “I was telling you that there is someone at the door and that you should go get it.”

“Why?”

There was confused pause.

“What do you mean, ‘Why’?”

“Why should I go down and open a door, which is an easy enough task, for someone I don’t know with news or issues that will more than likely be uninteresting and therefore will be a complete and utter waste of my time? Besides, Mrs Hudson will get it, she always does.”

“Mrs Hudson is away!”

“Well, that’s not my fault.” Sherlock muttered under his breath. He turned back to his chemistry set, where he was searching for a reagent precipitated by haemoglobin and nothing else, and waited. Nothing happened for a few seconds, but then John’s agitated footsteps could be heard stomping down the stairwell, drowning out whatever he was muttering.

Mary had recently gone to Greece for a little bit of sun and John, as he was stuck in a case at the time, had agreed to temporarily move back into Baker St. Sherlock was sure John was enjoying himself, but every now and then, like the previous outburst, John would display some behavioural irregularities, often in forms of agitation or frustration. It must be his way of missing Mary.

The sounds of a muted discussion floated up from below, soon to be followed by the sounds of footsteps climbing the stairs. Sherlock had memorized John’s footsteps a long time ago, so it was easy to distinguish the two men. He closed his eyes as he pictured the stranger:

Takes steps two at a time + added emphasis with each step = large; slight irregularity in the steps = injury (old; right leg); subconsciously treads on the edges of the stars – no unnecessary noise = used to moving silently; steps are strong + aggressive = used to attacking = trained; stranger’s footsteps are the loudest = he’s in front therefore used to being in command but also no room to walk abreast = broad shouldered; John didn’t question it and has not spoken = on the defence.

Conclusion: a large man used to command and silent combat (professional assassin/agent) is walking up my stairs.

Situation: possibly dangerous.

Sherlock’s mouth twitched upward as he opened his eyes to see his deduction appear through the door of the living room. He slowly stood up from his microscope and walked to his chair, always keeping eye contact with the stranger. He was a little bit taller than Sherlock but his body shape and demeanour shouted soldier. He was a young man, not too much older than John, and he was dressed entirely in black. Tailored suit and tie to conceal weapons, Sherlock thought.

Definitely a professional.

And definitely a man to watch out for.

They stood, face to face, taking stock of one another, judging each other’s reactions until eventually, the man reached into his pocket and produced a small box. It was not unlike those ridiculously corny gift boxes used to hold engagement rings or other sentimentalities in. It even had a gift tag tied with a ribbon. Sherlock raised an eyebrow as the man held it out for him to take.

“Sorry,” Sherlock said icily. “But I’m already taken.”

The man’s eyes narrowed as he drew himself up. Unseen by him, John had previously moved into a defensive position wielding – and Sherlock had internally rolled his eyes at this – an umbrella. This he raised as the man moved, but lowed his makeshift weapon from a slight hand signal from Sherlock, although his eyes never left the man’s head. The small box was placed upon Sherlock’s chair and the man turned with precision and left. The tension in the room wasn’t lowered until they both heard the front door close.

With a sharp release of air, John relaxed his tense muscles. He walked over to the doorway, replaced the umbrella and faced Sherlock.

“What was that all about?”

“What was what about?” Sherlock rumbled absently.

“What do you mean ‘What was what about’? I think the large intimidating agent who popped over to deliver you a box was a little hard to miss!”

Sherlock’s eyes hadn’t left the box since the stranger’s exit. Rather than finding anything out about it, he was rather frustrated that he couldn’t tell what was inside. His mind, clearly taken over by more important things, turned the talking over to the autopilot. The box was strangely light and made no noise when shaken, almost as if it were empty… but why give him an empty box? There wasn’t even a mark on there from the man’s pockets or handling.

“Junior Assistant to the Head of M15, retired from the field due to an ongoing injury to the leg that won’t go away; probably sustained in action. Recently promoted to a desk job, but after his years of service he finds it frustratingly boring and slow, and is trying to find a way to get back into the action – as seen through his unfriendly nature and pent up aggression.” He picked up a pen from beside him and gently eased the lid off the box.” His superiors don’t like him or find him completely useless in the line of office work as they gave him the job to deliver...”

John, who had been letting the babble flow over him, felt the silence echo. He looked over at Sherlock, concern faintly lining his face. Sherlock sat frozen in amazement, his eyes boring into the side of the box. John cautiously moved to Sherlock’s side, but saw nothing of interest.

“Sherlock?”

“Nothing… disappeared… gone… HOW?!”

John leapt back as Sherlock cannoned out of his seat and ran into the bookcase. He turned to glare at Sherlock but found him pacing wildly.

“Sherlock?”

“It disappeared, John. I don’t know how, but it did. It’s gone. It can’t be possible!”

“What can’t be? Sherlock – Sherlock calm down! What has disappeared?”

“The pen, John!”

John looked around the chair before quizzically looking up at the increasingly agitated Sherlock.

“But there is no pen.”

“Exactly, John. Exactly. I placed the pen in the gap between the box and the lid and moved it around the edge in case of a trap, when suddenly the pen was gone. It was in my hand then it wasn’t and I don’t know what happened but it is gone.”

Sherlock continued his pacing as John turned his attention to the box.

“Do we know who sent it?”

“Yes, John, it was by several little pixies. I think we can assume it was M15! That is, if danger-boy was anything to go by.”

John frowned but continued his inspection of the box. “I meant other than them,” he muttered, knowing that Sherlock would only ignore him. The lid was still on, but the ribbons had been untied, presumably by Sherlock’s curiosity, and the gift tag, which was addressed “For You” with a little triangle decoration on it, was askew. Subconsciously he straightened it, but stopped as he realised that he was now looking at the back of the tag. The back of the tag that had writing on it.

“Sherlock!” he called, but he was too far gone into his own mind to pay any attention to John. Shrugging, John read the note: The Inexplicable Matchbox Returns. NOT US. “The Inexplicable… Hey, didn’t you already solve this one?” he called over his shoulder. 

“What one?”

“The Inexplicable Matchbox. Wasn’t that the one with the mad French guy and you had to wear a clown suit? Man, I so wish I could have gotten a photo – Hey!” John was thrown to the ground again as Sherlock cannoned into him to look at the box. 

“Returns… returns… why returns? Why would it return, it was destroyed after the case – deemed too dangerous to keep – Mycroft saw to it personally.”

“It could have been fixed or copied.”  John’s voice drifted up from the floor. 

“Impossible. It couldn’t have been copied – I don’t even know how the first one was made! – and Mycroft assured me that it was destroyed. Ruined. Forever at death. And if Mycroft wants something, or one, gone, consider it non-existent. But the curious thing is that they claim to have nothing to do with it. There’s no other way of finding out. John!” He turned to look John in the face. “We need to –”

“– follow the pen. I know.” 

Sherlock lowered his head and held out the conundrum in his hand. “Shall we?” 

Together, they peered over the lid as Sherlock cautiously opened it. 

Nothing happened. 

No flash of white, no deafening sound. Not even a thunderclap, Sherlock thought, feeling a little cheated. Just the bottom of an empty box. Sherlock searched the box rigorously while John stepped back. What is the meaning of this? Was this a joke? 

“Sherlock?”

It couldn’t have been; he saw the pen disappear from his hands. 

“Sherlock.” 

What a waste of time. Still, it was a rather curious trick. How did they – 

“Sherlock!” 

Something in John’s voice finally registered in Sherlock’s raging mind, and he turned to his oldest friend. John’s back was turned and so he couldn’t see John’s face, but the fear and confusion poured out of him.

“John…?” Sherlock reached out. 

“Sherlock. I don’t think we’re in London anymore.”


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two:

Blackness greeted them.

It was an entity – a moving being – with thoughts and secrets. Its silent heartbeat pulsated through the air. John gasped as he felt its hand around his throat. He desperately clawed at his neck and tried to shake the grip loose, but to no avail. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sherlock fall. He frantically wracked his brain and as the last of his oxygen faded, he grabbed his phone and turned it on.

Instantly the light from the phone shattered the darkness around him. Fog recoiled back into the trees, outside of the light’s reach, and waited. John collapsed as glorious air rushed into his body. He turned his head to see Sherlock. Pale with his eyes closed, John would have thought him dead. That was, if he wasn’t at the moment doing a rather good impression of a stranded fish. John chuckled to himself. He probably looked just as bad.

Cocooned in their ball of light, which every now and then had to be reawakened by John’s finger, John focused on his breathing:

_Inhale for four seconds… exhale for four seconds… inhale for four seconds… exhale for four seconds… inhale for four seconds… exhale for four seconds… inhale –_

“John? Are you alright?”

John turned his head at the sound of Sherlock’s wheezing voice. He seemed to have gotten some of his colour back and his eyes had regained that spark John knew so well.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. You?”

“I’m fine.”

“Good… good.” Grunting slightly, John sat up. He glanced at his phone but found that he had no reception.  Unsurprised, he looked around. The best way to describe it, he thought, was twisted. The trees around them were deformed and bent out of shape while faint wisps of fog curled around their trunks and sat on their branches. The air was heavy – so heavy that every sound had been extinguished. This forest was ancient.

And, he felt, most certainly alive.

The hairs on the back of neck rose as he felt the eyes of thousands watching them. He spun into a defensive crouch but there was nothing. Only the stalking darkness lying in wait. John jumped as Sherlock groaned into a sitting position. He crouched in front of Sherlock so their eyes were at the same height. Keeping eye contact, a slight frown edged onto John’s brow in a question. Sherlock held a blank stare before slowly lowering his eyes. John sighed and nodded knowingly at the answer. John moved into a more comfortable position next to his friend. He would have stood, but he was not entirely sure of Sherlock’s stability. Every soldier particle in his body was shouting at him to keep on moving, but he couldn’t push Sherlock. Not this close to breaking point. A faint shine caught his eye on the ground next to him and he turned his head slightly in surprise. It was a pen.

“…So…” he said in a bright tone, trying to keep things light. The word seemed so loud, but once uttered it was consumed by the silence. Sherlock, who had been staring blankly ahead of him, blinked.

“So, what?”

Raising an eyebrow, John copied his blank stare.

“We’re not in Baker St.”

“Once again your observational skills astound me.”

Giving up on the attempt of light-heartedness, John turned to Sherlock in exasperation.

“What happened, Sherlock?”

Sherlock didn’t move. Silence enveloped the two.

“I don’t know.” Sherlock whispered.

“What?”

“I don’t know, John! I don’t know! None of this makes sense!” His whole body became animated in his frustration. “Darkness shouldn’t be able to asphyxiate you, Baker St couldn’t have disappeared, and small gift boxes tied with ribbon cannot be able to alter time and reality! Nothing. Makes. SENSE!”

John watched Sherlock’s outburst as calm as he could, knowing that if he showed the unease inside him it would only aggravate Sherlock more. He waited a little until Sherlock’s breathing had slowed down before he said simply: “I know they shouldn’t but they did. The only thing we can do now is to find out where we are. Are you ok to walk?”

Sherlock looked at him and nodded, accepting John’s arm to pull him onto his feet. Unsure of where to head, they walked in a general direction into the trees. Sherlock looked around them as the fog wrapped around their feet. His hands played with something absently as he thought. There was nothing he had ever experienced or read that came close to what was happening now. Moriarty, while resourceful, was not that powerful and he didn’t know how something like this could be created. The mechanics were all wrong! Even if teleportation was possible the transportation disc would never be able to fit inside a box as small as the one which got them here.

A thought charged across his mind and he looked down. The small box was still clutched tightly in his hands. As his hands unfolded, the box, which was bent and crumpled, radiated a small glow. He stopped and drew John’s attention to it. Curious, John turned off his phone, but turned it back on again at Sherlock’s persistence. While not as bright as his phone, the light still kept the dark at bay. Sherlock turned the box around in the phone’s light as he studied every corner of it.

“What are you looking for?”

“I don’t know. A switch or a button. Anything that could make the transportation focus reverse.”

“…You think the box can get us back.”

“Yes.”

John waited in silence as Sherlock’s efforts got more and more frantic before he threw it onto the ground in frustration. John picked up the box and moved to his friend.

 “It was a good thought, Sherlock, but it appears that we are stuck. Any thought on what we should do next?”

“No.”  Sherlock’s voice cracked in emotion, and John could see that his friend was close to breaking point.

“Well, I’ll tell you. We’re going to continue walking and try to find another way out of this, ok?” He started walking again and hear Sherlock fall into step beside him.

They hadn’t been walking for long when Sherlock felt John freeze. Instinctively, Sherlock knew not to speak. Speaking could be life-threatening. He held his breath as John turned his head slowly, trying to catch even the smallest of sounds. Sherlock could hear nothing and looked at his friend in amazement. He hadn’t witnessed this side of John. His friendly face was etched in fierce concentration, and his body could have been carved from marble it was so still. But then again, Sherlock had never seen John in a war. John slowly raised his hand and beckoned for Sherlock to come closer. Barely breathing the words, he whispered into Sherlock’s ear:

“Footsteps.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened in surprise and he lent back. How could anyone have come here? He glanced at the box. Maybe there was a greater mystery here than first thought. _And that was saying something_ , he thought to himself. Following John’s fixated stare, Sherlock strained to hear or see anything. His admiration for John grew. Just on the edge of his hearing it was possible for one to make out the faint thuds. Sherlock bent down.

“What do we do?”

John sprang into action. He grabbed Sherlock’s hand and pulled him behind a tree. There, limiting their light’s glow, they waited.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter three:

Sherlock closed his eyes in concentration as he sought out the unseen. _John may be able to find them,_ Sherlock thought, _but I am the one who can identify them_. As the footsteps became louder, he began to form a picture:

Steps out of order = more than one – two; heavy footed  + tall (balance of probability says males)  + a slight spring in their steps = athletic = action-based; no rhythm in steps = crouching; slight noise where their feet slide on the ground = defensive crouch + slight misbalance of steps = weapons in hand (more than likely guns from the placement of the scrapes and the faint odour of gun oil); correction: one in a defensive crouch with a weapon and one standing tall = soldier with a civilian? No, civilian’s footsteps confident (not how a normal civilian would react) = acclimatized to violence but placed behind the armed man = protected = in a defensive position but uncertain steps says not used to it = attackers = possibly aggressive; practised silent movement = trained; faint sounds of material swishing = coat = long = only one therefore not uniform based but it’s not hitting the ground = belongs to the non-combatant.

Conclusion: two men, one armed and ready and one non-combatant with a long coat, are walking towards us.

Situation: highly dangerous.

Sherlock’s eyes flashed open as he looked at John. John nodded. Sherlock realised with a shock that he had deduced out loud. He shrugged mentally. At least he wouldn’t have to repeat himself. He went through his deductions again as a memory tugged at his brain. It was danger-boy. Similarities zoomed across his mind, and it would seem as if they all corresponded perfectly, but he couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was a major difference that he was missing. These men, while not danger-man himself, had a remarkable similarity to him. So maybe they were in the same line of work? Again, this didn’t quite sit right for Sherlock, but he could see no alternative so turned to John and whispered his findings.

“M15. They sound an awful lot like danger-boy.”

John nodded. A muffled conversation greeted them.

“This place gives me the creeps. I don’t like it. Anything could hide here – it’s too dark. Can’t you make that blade any brighter, Cas?” The low gruff voice rang with authority and leadership and carried to Sherlock and John easily.

“Dean, as I’ve told you the last six times, the angel blade is not a torch.” This voice, though low, seemed to be devoid of most emotion. Even John could not detect any sarcasm or tiredness in his voice.

“Yeah, yeah. Just… hoped things had changed.”

“It hasn’t, Dean. I’ll tell you when it does.”

An incoherent grumble followed.

“But I cannot stick it there, Dean. It would not fit.”

“Can you at least tell me where we are?”

“No. I do not recognize anything. I don’t think we’re on earth and I know we’re nowhere in the realms either.”

“So… no demons?”

“Not that I can tell.”

“Angels?”

“Just me.”

“Awesome. I would hate to have anything jump out and possess me.”

“Technically, Dean, that is still possible. For while I cannot sense any angelic or demonic activity, it is quite possible for –”

“Yes, thank you, Cas. I think I get it.”

Sherlock glanced down at John in surprise as he slowly stood up. Sherlock whispered urgently. “What are you doing? They’re armed. Even the one I thought was fine has something called an ‘angel blade’.”

“Yes, Sherlock, but listen to them. They’re just as lost as us. And if your assumptions are correct, then jumping out at them is the last thing we want to do. I know they’re strangers and I don’t know if we can trust them, but what else can we do? They might be able to help.”

“At least let me talk to them first. I’ll let you know when you can come out.”

Sherlock stood up and took the box, allowing the glow of the box to grow as John crept back further into the trees. They waited in silence until the conversation below confirmed the stranger’s knowledge of their presence.

Sherlock took a deep breath.

“I am unarmed and mean you no harm. Like you, I am lost and alone and only seek to find my way home. If I reveal myself now, will you promise to hear me out?”

There was silence.

“How many of you are there?” a suspicious voice answered.

“There’s only me.”

“And you are?”

“Sherlock. My name’s Sherlock.”

“Why did you allow us to see your position? You could’ve stay hidden and let us walk past.”

“Because I have deduced that not only are you armed but you are also used to using the weapons you carry, so I didn’t want to take you by surprise. Going by your profession you’re also used to –”

“Our ‘profession’? And what ‘profession’ would that be?”

“You’re a part of the secret service, although judging by your accents you’re American, so possibly with the CIA or the FBI.”

“Rather impressive. I have no idea how you got to that answer, but you’re not quite right.” He could almost hear the smile in their words. “Alright, come out.”

“Dean –”

“Let him. We can always kill him later.”

Strangely unassured, Sherlock huddled around the box’s glow and stepped out from his hiding place, stopping in front of the man who was clearly the leader. He was taller than Sherlock and wore plaid in the form of a flannelette shirt. A necklace with a small pendant hung from his neck, and an air of authority and unquestioned leadership surrounded him. He held his gun in one hand by his side and had an air of confidence and capability around him that gave Sherlock no doubt about his skill with it.

His companion confused him.

As far as outside appearances went, the man wore a light brown trench coat over a black suit and a white shirt with a blue tie that seemed perpetually askew. Actually, he looked as if he was in a permanent state of dishevelment. In any other place Sherlock would have labelled him as a drunk, but the signs of drunkenness weren’t there.

To begin with, he didn’t move. Sherlock knew that every human being, especially a drunk one, was subjected to fiddling now and again. Such movement – like moving their weight to different feet, blinking more than once, the heaving of the occasional sigh or the slight staggering of words and movement – all came together in one cell of data, allowing skilled readers like Sherlock to form conclusions about their emotions and their thoughts. This man made none of that. No twitches, no deep intake of breath. Sherlock wasn’t even sure the man was breathing. Even blinking would have told him something! The man had not stopped staring at Sherlock since he came into view and Sherlock could almost feel his soul being read. And the man’s bearing was unparalleled. In height he was only about the size of Sherlock, but he dominated the air around him. It was almost as if his body couldn’t or wouldn’t be able to contain his entire being. Was nothing about this man normal?

Oh, and his hand holding the ‘angel blade’ was glowing.

Sherlock drew a breath to bring attention to it when there was a commotion in the trees. Branches were pushed back to reveal John being restrained and forced forward by another man. He loomed over Sherlock and wore a plaid shirt under a dull green jacket with a massive wolfish grin that in any other situation would have been called ‘overly friendly’. A gun hung low in his free hand. He stopped before them and roughly pushed John towards the leader who casually moved his gun, drawing attention to it.

“I found him hiding in the trees watching you. Is he with you?” The man addressed this last part to Sherlock.

Sherlock looked at the first man.

“Yes.”

“Why hide?”

“Would you trust us?”

“I still don’t.”

John’s voice moved beside them as he stood next to Sherlock.

“Well, you might find that you’re going to have to.”

“How did you get here?”

John and Sherlock exchanged glances. Sherlock nodded. John took a deep breath and told them about the mysterious box. When John had finished, the first man stared down at John before looking at his first companion. They seemed to have a silent conversation before he turned back to them.

“I don’t know who you are, or how you got here, but Cas seems to trust you. I’ll let you join us, but don’t fall behind and don’t expect us to give you a gun, either.”

The group began moving with the leader up the front and his taller companion bringing up the rear. After a pause, John lent over to Sherlock.

“When you said ‘M15’, I didn’t imagine so much plaid.”

Sherlock didn’t answer. He instead turned to the man behind him.

“If we’re going to be travelling together, I think we should know each other’s names, at least.”

“Good idea. Who are you?”

“I’ve already told you.”

“No, you told _him_ , not me.”

“…Sherlock.”

“And you?” The question was directed to John, who answered.

“John.”

“Sherlock and John. No last names?”

“You wouldn’t trust us that much, would you?”

The man studied Sherlock before answering, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“My name’s Sam. The man you were talking to before is my brother, Dean, and that’s our friend, Castiel.” He pointed to the other companion in a trench coat.

“What is he?”

Sam glanced suspiciously at him. “Don’t you mean, ‘who’?”

“No. I mean, ‘what’. This man, if I may call him that, is unlike anyone I have ever seen! He doesn’t move, he doesn’t blink, he feels like the entire cosmos is trying to fit into his body, and his hand is glowing!”

Sherlock glared at him, daring him to question him. All he received was a smirk.

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

The dishevelled man, now known as Castiel, had slowed and was now level with Sherlock who turned to face him.

“What are you?”

“I am an Angel of the Lord.”

“An angel,” breathed John. Sherlock was still. “But you don’t look like an angel.”

“What you see is merely my vessel and not my true form.”

John looked around nervously. “And what would happen if we were to see your ‘true form’, Castiel?”

“Oh, your eyes get burned out of your skull.” Sam answered casually.

John turned back to look in amazement at Castiel. He wasn’t sure if he believed in God and Angels. Sure, back in Afghanistan and during some moments with Sherlock he had prayed to something like a god. Who wouldn’t? But he didn’t know if he _believed_. He remembered a time when his mother had given him a picture to colour in when he was a child. He paid no attention to it back then, but he could dimly recall that the angel was floating in the sky wearing robes and had a small halo over its head, which child-John had coloured blue. That angel had seemed to love nothing else than to sing songs about ‘peace on earth’ and ‘good-will to all men’. This man, or this angel, in front of him looked nothing like that. He practically screamed destruction.

But small boxes wrapped in ribbon should not be able to teleport you to a new world.

Taking a deep breath, John nodded at Castiel. “Nice to meet you, Castiel, Angel of the Lord.”

“You too, Dr Watson.”

John’s head snapped up.

“How did you know my name?”

“I read your mind.”

“Angels aren’t real.”

John turned to face Sherlock who was scrutinizing Castiel.

“Well, apparently they are,” Sam chimed in. “Unless of course Castiel here is nothing but a figment of our imaginations and our entire life has been a lie.”

“I thought we already had this conversation, Sam. I’m a real entity, not a –”

“I-I know, Cas. Thanks.”

They walked for a while in silence, John noticing that Sam occasionally glanced down at them. After a while, John’s curiosity go the better of him.

“So, how did you guys get here?”

 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter four:

_Flashback_

The sky was a gorgeous shade of blue and the countryside was simply picturesque. Mid-way through spring, the chilly air hung close to the ground while the sun tried to warm the world below it. Perfect weather for a light jog, a picnic, golfing, or, Dean thought as he brought his shovel down sharply, a little game of Whack-a-Zombie.

Dean and Sam were driving by casually in the Impala when, out of the corner of their eyes, they saw these little devils pop out of the ground. _Like daisies_ , Dean thought at the time, _except much uglier. And they probably don’t smell as good._ Grinning at Sam like a two year-old in an arcade, they got out of the car and began the biggest game of Whack-a-Mole in the history of hunting. Dean sighed contentedly as another head went flying. _I love Mondays. No – wait – Tuesdays. I love Tuesdays_. Dean and Sam had split up and every now and then Dean would shout out his score to Sam.

“28!”

“34!”

“What?! I’ll not let a long-haired moose outscoring me!”

“This isn’t Helms Deep, Dean!”

“35!”

Sam had chosen to play with a blade, whereas Dean felt it only proper to use a shovel, which wasn’t as precise as a blade but there were no points for style. The zombies in his area were quickly placed back into their graves as they fell to his enthusiastic pest control. Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun.

“Dean!”

Dean turned to see Sam slowly get surrounded.

Sam began to back away, which was hard to do seeing as though they were everywhere. He tried to remember what Dean had told him about attacking Zombies when they were kids:

_If you’re fighting Zombies, always be on guard_

_Raise your weapon above your head, and hit them nice and hard._

Sam huffed. _Great advice, brother._

“Dean! Hand, please?!” He called over his shoulder. Sam raised his hand and attacked the closest Zombie. He turned to another when something flew through the air and landed at his feet.

It was a Zombie hand.

Sam looked into the Zombie’s face as Dean’s “Here you go!” echoed across the distance, deciding that he was going to haunt his brother for this. Raising his blade, Sam continued to decapitate the closest Zombies and just as he was beginning to feel overwhelmed, he heard Dean Tarzan call. Gaining some breathing space from the distraction, he turned to see Dean charge into the horde swinging his shovel like a samurai sword. Between the two of them, what was a mass of mindless creatures soon became a mass of decapitated mindless creatures. Dean walked up to Sam, panting heavily with a smile as big as Europe plastered across his face, and holding a Zombie head.

“Hey, Sam! Look at this: I got you a new girlfriend.”

Sam laughed mirthlessly. “Thanks Dean, but I did notice something when I was fighting those things: all the girls were attracted to me. Whereas the boys… well, they headed to the one who would give them more attention.”

“Whoa,” Dean warned, dropping the head and backing up slightly, “what are you saying?”

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean gasped and jumped back as the voice rang in his ear unexpectedly behind him. He relaxed as he recognised the figure.

“Cas, what have I said about appearing suddenly?”

“To warn people first.”

“Exactly.”

“But I did warn you, Dean. I said, ‘Hi, Dean’. Isn’t that the warning you wanted?”

“Something a little earlier than that would be good, yeah.”

“I shall remember it for next time.”

Dean nodded. “So, Cas, what’s up?”

“An infinite amount of space and what appears to be a bird –”

“No, why are you here?”

Castiel looked at the two boys in confusion. “Didn’t one of you pray to me?” This time it was their turn to look confused.

“No.” Sam replied. There was a confused silence. “Why? What was the prayer?”

“It said: I need you. I need you to come back. Help me.”

“And you have no idea who prayed it?”

“If not you two then who else would it be, Sam?”

Sam and Dean thought in silence. “Well, we’re not going to get any answers here. Let’s head back to the Bunker. Cas, you coming?” Castiel nodded, and as the two brothers turned to head back to their car they felt a hand grab their shoulders.

“Cas!” Dean shouted. “You don’t have to –”

Dean abruptly clutched his throat. Castiel looked over and saw Sam struggle against an invisible attacker, struggling for air. Darkness surrounded them both in dense clumps. Both men reached for their guns but the strength of the hold beat them to the ground. Castiel watched in confused silence as his friends thrashed the air. Nothing was attacking them. Castiel realised that something was trying to stop his breathing too, but it was inconsequential. Dean had fallen to his knees and Sam was bent double. Castiel tilted his head as he saw Sam gesture something. Castiel repeated it back at him. As Dean collapsed, Sam mentally yelled: LIGHT!

His world began to fade as he fell to the ground. Dean’s eyes were open slightly and a small smile formed on his face. Sam smiled back. He was dying next to his brother. At least fate had granted him that.

Light illuminated the world around them. It poured out relief and safety as it engulfed the two brothers. Precious air filled them as they joyously received it. Sam glanced over at Castiel, one hand holding out the Angel Blade, emanating a glow from the palm of his hand. He drew closer to them as Dean stirred.

“Sorry, Sam. I didn’t know what” here he opened and closed his hands “this meant.”

“Seriously,” Dean gasped beside him. “Out of all… the stupid signals… for light you… chose that one.” Dean raised his arms and flashed his hands overdramatically.

“Hey... I didn’t… see you try… anything… better.”

“No… but I would… hope that I… didn’t use… that one.”

Sam resigned in silence, deciding that there was many a better thing to waste one’s breath on. Silence once more reigned in the group until Dean’s curiosity got the better of him.

“Cas, where… are we?”

“I don’t know, Dean.”

“Then how did… we get here?”

“I don’t know that either. Something interfered.”

“Interfered? What… could have poss–possibly… interfered?”

“I don’t know, Dean. No one I know.”

“Awesome,” Dean breathed.

“What attacked us, Cas? Did… did you see anyone?”

“No, Sam. Nothing was else was here. Only the darkness.”

“Are you trying… to tell me… that we were almost killed… by _darkness_?”

“No, Dean. I am simply stating that only darkness was around when that happened.”

“I’m over this,” Dean groaned as he got up. “I was having such a good day… with the Zombies. Can you take us back?”

“I shall try, Dean, but I do not know.”

“Awesome. Come on, Sam,” Dean said as he helped his little brother up. “Let’s try this.” Castiel held out his hands for the brothers. They subconsciously held their breath as he took hold of their shoulders.

Releasing his breath sharply, Dean turned away and composed himself.  He faced his brother and his friend and, with as much calmness and certainty he could muster, led them into the unknown.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter five:

“And that’s when we found you.”

“Zombies, teleportation, angels… what is it you actually do?”

“We hunt the... well, the not natural occurrences in life. Mysteries, Hauntings, Armageddons, you know, those sorts of things. Cas is a friend who pulled Dean out of Hell and is now helping us out.”

“You had no warning?” Sherlock interrupted.

“None.”

“And you said the darkness attacked you? Just as you arrived?”

“Yes.” Sam watched Sherlock bow his head and mumble to himself. Suddenly, he lifted his head.

“We’re not the targets.”

“What do you mean, Cheekbones?”

Sherlock ignored Dean’s interjection. “Think! Both of us arrived here unknowingly, hinting at an enemy with a possibility of revenge, but we were both attacked upon arrival. That doesn’t say revenge that says something a little different. That says that they’re trying to get rid of the unwanted people, the witnesses, the spares. On top of that, we have no enemies that could do what has been done. Moriarty couldn’t have made the box and you said before that you know of no one that could change your destination mid-transport. It only makes sense that our enemy doesn’t know us, doesn’t want us and so therefore isn’t after us. But they’re not hunting us down either, which can only mean one thing. They’ve found them.”

“Found them? Found who?”

“The one they were after originally.”

Castiel tensed.

“Someone’s coming.”

The group fell silent as they subconsciously fell into a defensive circle. John couldn’t hear anything. “How can you tell?” he whispered to Castiel.

“I can sense people.”

“You didn’t sense us.” John continued to scan the outline of trees around him.

“Yes I did. That’s why Sam was behind us ready for an ambush.”

Running footprints sounded. They were heading straight for them.

Dean grabbed onto John’s jacket.

“Quick, hide!”

He signalled to Sam, who pushed Sherlock behind a tree opposite them. John felt Dean grab him and throw him behind a tree. He moved slightly to peak out of a gap in the roots.  The footprints drew closer. Dean caught a glimpse of a running figure holding a stick with a ball of light on the end. He hid before the ensuing darkness closed in behind the figure. Dean was beginning to wonder if the darkness, _this_ darkness, was actually alive. He waited a few moments before sounding the ‘all clear’.

Dean helped John up while Castiel seemed to appear on his feet. The three of them walked out into the middle of the path. John studied the footprints on the ground. He felt Dean’s eyes on his neck and looked up into the hunter’s face. Dean acknowledged the prints with a nod. He was starting to like the munchkin. He was dependable, practical, calm under pressure, and had an easy-going nature that hinted a threat.

“What do you think?”

“Well, assuming that Sherlock was right, and he always is, I think it’s safe to say that this was the one ‘they’ were after. These footprints are made by human shoes, grown man’s I’d wager, but as to how he got here I cannot say.”

“Beats me, pipsqueak. By the way, how did you get here? Something about a box?”

“Pipsqueak!” John huffed.

“Would you prefer Hobbit?” Dean asked innocently.

“No.” John sighed and turned back to the ground. “What do you think Sherlock?”

There was no answer. John looked up expecting to see his friend but no one was next to him. “Sherlock?!” he cried out. Dean hurried over to Sherlock and Sam’s hiding place and found nothing.

“They’re gone!” Dean exclaimed.

“What do you mean ‘they’re gone’?!”

“They’re not there. Their footprints aren’t even here!”

“I saw them hide there not a few minutes ago.” John hurried over to survey the ground around the tree, then moving onto the trees around it.

“Well they’re not here now.”

“But where else could they be?”

“I don’t know. Do I look like I know?”

John returned to calling out Sherlock’s name. Dean turned to Castiel. “No, Dean.” He interjected before Dean could speak. “I cannot sense anyone. It’s almost as if they’ve gone. I’ll tell you if I get anything.”

Castiel could see that Dean was worried, but could think of nothing that would be of any comfort. Instead he walked over and placed his hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“We’ll find him, Dean.”

Dean nodded and turned back to John, who was slowly walking away.

“Hey! Where’d you think you’re going?”

“I’m going after them.”

“Not by yourself you’re not. We have a better chance of finding them together. Come on.”

Dean strode on ahead. John fell beside him with Castiel at Dean’s other shoulder.

“Just one thing,” John added as Castiel’s light illuminated the path ahead. “Don’t call me Hobbit.”


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter six:

Looking at the man out of the corner of his eye, Sam watched Sherlock walking lost in thought beside him. The man was impressive. It wasn’t so much the way he looked in his buttoned down shirt and suit pants, but rather how he seemed to impress himself on those around him without even saying a word. During their walk, he had asked Sherlock to deduce things about him and Sherlock had readily complied. Sherlock’s keen eyes missed nothing, except for a few details like how mother died on fire on the roof and Sam’s connection to demon blood, but Sam suspected that that was more from Sherlock’s lack of experience in the supernatural world than his failure to pick things up. In all, Sam was impressed. The man’s genius was unparalleled.

Sam didn’t want Sherlock to know, but he was on edge. Hiding behind a tree, seeing Dean and Castiel hiding John opposite and then resurfacing to find them gone was a little unbalancing. They had searched everywhere for any clue to find them, but they both came back empty-handed. So they had pushed on and now they walked abreast in the light of the torch Sam carried. _“A good hunter is always prepared for anything,”_ Sam had told Sherlock when he pulled it out. Sam smiled at the brooding figure beside him. “Missing your John, Sherlock?” Sherlock looked away from the tree he was studying and instead turned to study Sam.

“Missing your Dean, Sam?”

Sherlock smiled internally as Sam contemplated this new development. He liked Sam, in a we’re-stuck-together-so-we-had-better-get-on way. Sam had a strange dependency on his brother. It wasn’t a co-dependency as such, but he was unstable in his thoughts without his brother around. He knew that as much as Sam tried to hide it from him, he was uneasy being away from his brother. And, though he would never admit it, Sherlock was anxious. He didn’t know where he was, he didn’t know where he was going and he didn’t know what brought them here. He didn’t even know the man next to him. He kicked absently at a tendril of fog playing at his feet. I’d better find John soon, he thought. Ever since the wedding he’d gotten more and more twitchy. It was best to find him before he began to worry.

Something drifted on the air.

Sherlock froze and cocked his head from side to side. Sam halted a few steps in front of him and glanced over. He was suddenly reminded of a bloodhound on the scent, and dimly remembered that that was a very Holmes thing to do. He didn’t have long to ponder before Sherlock broke the confused tension.

“Can you hear that?”

Sam focused on his hearing. “What can I hear?”

“That… sound. That… screaming.” Sherlock bolted away. Sam chased him, torch in hand, relying on Sherlock’s hearing to guide them as he still couldn’t hear anything. Sherlock went crashing into the forest, following the sound. It wasn’t much but it was enough to make him know that he had to follow it.

Sherlock stopped abruptly. Sam, chasing Sherlock at full speed, had to suddenly change direction to avoid cannoning into the statue in front of him. He ricocheted off the closest tree and finally halted a few metres from Sherlock kneeling on the ground. “What are you doing?” Sam panted slightly, but Sherlock ignored him. Faint footprints were etched into the ground.

Larger sized feet = male; deeply imprinted = large – correction: steps spaced out = running + considering the size of the foot and the length of the strides = running as fast as possible; shoe manufacture = English and slightly old-fashioned = brand: Loake…

Sherlock ran a hand over the footprint in front of him in dread. He was looking at John’s footprints.

He got up and ran. He followed the trail of footprints and could easily see where John had turned to look behind him and once where he had turned presumably to shoot at the thing chasing him. The footprints changed course suddenly. Sherlock dived between the trees obediently as a flash of colour caught his eye. He stopped and gently lifted it off the branch of the tree.

A few threads off John’s jumper, stained with blood, formed a triangle in his hand.

Sherlock pushed his way through the forest more frantic than ever. The screaming became clearer. Sherlock could recognise John’s voice screaming out his name. “I’m coming John!” he called back. Sherlock fought his way forward. Branches whipped his face and cut his cheeks. Thorns tore at his arms and torso, but he didn’t care. He had to get to John. He looked down and cried out as the footprints seemed to abruptly stop. “No no no no no no no no no no no,” he muttered and held his head. He fell to the ground searching the track when he realised. His blood ran cold.

It wasn’t John’s trail.

How could he have been so stupid?! Even the foot size was wrong! He must have missed the proper turning and followed some random trail instead. He turned around and raced to find John’s footprints again. He cursed himself. Precious minutes were wasted trying to get back to the deviated trail and finding it again. His heart raced and his legs felt like jelly. He was fighting for breath, but still he continued running. He wasn’t going to stop. Not while John Watson needed him. _Hang on, John_ ¸ Sherlock pleaded. _I’m coming_.

“Sherlo –” The strangled cry ended.

“No.” Sherlock panted. “NO! JOHN!”

He burst into a clearing. It was empty except for a body huddled on the ground, protruding out from the swirling fog around them. Sherlock slowly approached the still figure, the sound of Sam’s breathing a faint noise behind him.

“Sherlock?” Sam called to him, but he didn’t respond.

“John?” he whispered, reaching out to touch their shoulder.

“Sherlock?” It came out as a gasp.

“John!” Sherlock dropped to the ground beside him and cradled John’s head to his chest. His breath caught in his throat as he saw multiple wounds seep with blood. Sherlock tried to stop the flow but nothing worked. He looked down at John helplessly. He didn’t know how to stop the blood. He didn’t know how to save John Watson.

“Sherlock?” John breathed. Sherlock held him closer.

“Tell me what to do, John. You’re bleeding and I don’t know how to stop it, I don’t know what to do. But you do. You always know what to do. You always save the life.” Sherlock’s voice began to break. “Help me, John.”

John’s eyes searched for Sherlock’s. “Sherlock… where were you?” John paused to cough weakly. “I called for you… and you didn’t come.” Sherlock saw the look of disappointment cross over John’s face and he knew he had let him down. If only he had been here sooner he could have saved him. And now John Watson was dying in his arms because the great Sherlock Holmes couldn’t even follow a set of footprints. Sherlock felt his tears fall, and he gently wiped them off John’s pale cheeks. “Why didn’t you come?”

“I’m sorry, John. I’m so sorry. I tried… I tried.” Sherlock held his friend closer as John’s hand rested on his chest and weakly tried to push Sherlock away. “John?” his voice barely came out a whisper.

“No, Sherlock… not… you.”

John’s dismissal ripped through his gut. Self-hate consumed him as he gently placed John on the ground and walked a few paces away. _He_ let John down. _He_ hadn’t noticed the prints. _He_ didn’t get there on time. It was _his_ mind that had failed both of them. Sobs wracked his body as he fell to the ground in grief. A disembodied voice floated towards him.

“I warned you, Sherlock. I told you to stay out of it. And now you’re in my way again. Do you remember what I told you, Sherlock?” The voice drifted around the clearing. “Back at the pool? Remember what I would do if you interfered again?”

John’s body burst into flames.

“I said I would burn the heart out of you.”

“NO! JOHN!”

Sherlock leapt at the fire. He beat at the flames, trying to put it out, but they only grew stronger. He gazed at John and caught his eye. The pain in John’s eyes screamed out to Sherlock, but John only turned his head and looked away. Sherlock threw himself onto the fire, ignoring the heat, and tried to pull John out. The fire ate at his clothes and melted his skin. He screamed out in pain but refused to give up on John. Arms wrapped around Sherlock in a bear-hug from behind and pulled him away. He fought frantically, but his arms were secured to his side. He watched on helplessly as the fire consumed his only friend.

“John.”

His heart broke.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter seven:

_Castiel was alone._

_Faces emerged from the fog around him. Their voices rose and fell in a grief-stricken beat. Each person had a name. Each name had a story. Each story, a guilt. But what scared Castiel the most was that these faces were meant to be dead._

Dean had disappeared. John and Castiel had looked everywhere for a trace of his whereabouts, looking behind trees and searching through the fog, but nothing came up. Castiel wanted to drive forward to find him, but John was less keen. It had nothing to do with Dean, John had pointed out to Castiel, but rather the fact that if they went running into the fog there was a great chance that they would become separated. Castiel looked around them and saw that John was right. The fog billowed amongst the trees and swirled around their feet. If Dean had gone into that and they followed, it would be a miracle if they were able to see each other let alone a solitary figure in the night. And Castiel couldn’t be sure that his Father would be able to send a miracle here.

That was when he first glimpsed them.

As Castiel scanned the fog-drenched forest around him, he saw a mere suggestion of a face hiding in the darkness. He stiffened. He knew that face. Many, many years ago he knew it. It fled as John broke the silence.

“Castiel, are you ok? What’s wrong?” John laid his hand on the angel’s shoulder. Castiel turned to John and shook his head, saying nothing. They continued, calling out for their lost friends as they went. As they walked, Castiel saw more and more faces peering through the murky depths. They haunted his footsteps. They taunted him. He couldn’t turn away from them as he gazed at a trio of faces peering through the gloom. Fog rose up between the two travellers and soon John could barely see the way in front of him. Squinting, he realised that he had lost Castiel.

“Castiel?!” He cried out. “Cas?!”

Something grabbed his wrist. He spun around to stare into Castiel’s tortured gaze. He was pleading for something, but John had no idea what to do or what he needed. “What do you need, Castiel?”

“…Release. Goodbye, John.”

Castiel dropped John’s hand and disappeared, his voice drifting through the night. John reacted and plunged his hand into the fog. He grasped Castiel’s hand and pulled him back.

“Where are you going, Castiel? This is no time to be going off on your own. I need you here.”

“No, John. You don’t.” Castiel willed for John to understand. “Find your friend and find Dean and Sam. I’ll draw them away. They’re after me, not you. If I leave, they might leave you alone.” Castiel took his hand away from John as if his hold was nothing and disappeared before John could say anything. John’s vision was blinded, but he ran as fast as he could in the direction Castiel had gone. He continued unseeing until he caught a glimpse of light and wandered on after him.

Castiel ran.

Faces flashed around him as he struggled to stay upright. Branches lashed out at his face and veiled roots haphazardly tried to trip him. The fog crept into his mouth and constricted his diaphragm. Half stumbling and half choking, Castiel burst onto a forlorn path where he fell and lay on the ground. Faces pressed up against his consciousness. He slowly pulled himself up and watched them. As one, the faces burst out in a chorus of suffering.

Castiel tried to cover his ears, but it seeped into his being. It was made up of all their voices crying out to Castiel in agony. Just as he had remembered them doing. The faces were perfect copies of Castiel’s last memories of them; some of them were old and wizened from their struggles, others were youthful and had a childish hope about them. But they all had one thing in common. All were wearing expressions of pure terror.

And they had all been put there because of him.

Castiel had never really considered the past and its consequences. As an Angel he’d had no need to. But now, in this time and in this place, Castiel was the most human he had ever felt. Vulnerable. Fearful. Mortal. He was now subjected to time. He raised his blade as the faces began to move but they only parted in half, creating a pathway through them. Still holding his blade, Castiel strode forward.

The faces did nothing to him as he made his way down the path. They stood there stuck in their terrified state, singing their last cry for help. But soon another sound joined their cries. It was a happy sound, one that Castiel had grown to love. It was laughter. Not any laughter, but that of Dean and Sam. He quickened his pace until he was running and saw them ahead. Sam, usually towering over Dean, was bent double holding his sides, his face split into one of the biggest smiles Castiel had ever seen. And there was Dean, doing another one of his impressions, glowing in love and pride at his younger brother. Castiel could never grasp the point of Dean’s impressions but Sam had always laughed at them. All thoughts of ancient faces gone from his mind, Castiel joined his family. They greeted him warmly, and began to talk.

“Cas! Where have you been? You just seemed to disappear on us.”

“Sorry, Dean. I did not mean to. You were just suddenly gone.”

“Gone? Like Sam here?”

“Yes, Dean. One moment you were with us, the next you were gone.”

“Us? Who else was with you?”

“John, Dean. Remember John?”

Dean’s face wrinkled in confusion before clearing up. “John! Yes, the Hobbit. I remember him. He had a friend, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, Sherlock. Smart, but pretentious. Had a bit of a god complex.” Sam continued. “Randomly ran off on me. Started talking about screaming and footprints and all that. I don’t think he was all there, poor guy. Good thing I soon found you Dean.”

“Sam and I ran into each other before,” Dean informed Castiel. “The fog was thick and we didn’t see each other before we crashed, but we’re fine.”

Dean continued to talk as Castiel felt something touch his arm. He struck out with his blade but encountered nothing but air. Silence fell on the group as Dean and Sam watched Castiel worried. Castiel turned back to his friends but spun around again when he heard something call out his name. The faces had stopped crying out and Dean and Sam were silent. The voice was close and strangely familiar, but Castiel could not place it.

“Cas?” Dean enquired. “What’s wrong?” Castiel shook his head to clear it before coming back to the boys.

“Nothing, Dean. Just my head. It’s been like this since we got here.”

“What did you see?”

“Nothing, Dean. I felt something on my arm and I heard a voice calling out my name, but I saw nothing.” Unseen by Castiel, Dean smiled slightly.

“Well, there’s no one here but us. Better make our way back. Who knows, your powers might miraculously return and be able to send us home. I’m sick of this place.”

The boys turned their backs on Castiel, Sam to pick up his torch and Dean to get his gun which they had placed on the ground upon their reunion. Castiel suddenly felt himself raise his blade. He stared at it numbly as it continued to rise. He faced Dean and Sam, seeing their eyes widened with horror and confusion, and made his way closer to them. He fought against his body, but everything was out of his control. He couldn’t even scream at his friends to run away. They stepped forward and tried to placate him, but he could not stop. His blade was now above his head as he plunged it into Sam’s chest. A terrified cry escaped Sam’s throat as he called out to Castiel for the last time, his face rigidly formed into an expression of pure horror. Dean leapt at Castiel as Sam’s body dropped to the ground limp. Castiel fought against his body as his free hand rose to meet Dean. In one swift move, Castiel grabbed a hold of Dean’s throat and held him at arm’s length.

“Cas…” Dean choked out pleadingly. “… don’t… become… him… Cas…”

Dean’s head lolled to the side as his last breath left him. Castiel let go. He once more had control over his body, but it meant little to him. He had already become what he had feared. What he already knew he was.

The faces’ song began once more.

Dean and Sam mindlessly joined them. Their last words, the cry for help – for his help – echoed throughout the forest. Their faces were etched in fear just like the other faces around them. He had done this to them. He had ruined each and every one of them. It hadn’t mattered to him back them. The end had always justified the means. But now it mattered. It mattered a lot.

A voice from inside Castiel’s head began to torment him.

_See how little you’ve changed, Castiel. Once more, people’s deaths are on your hands. You are a killer. A murderer. A coward. You waited until their backs were turned, afraid to fight them face to face. And with that, you’ve lost the last ones who really cared about you. Now they are just like the others. Dead. And all because of you._

Castiel held his head as the voice grew louder.

You’re wrong! That wasn’t me. I would never have hurt them. Never! I have changed. It wasn’t me. I wouldn’t hurt them. I’ve changed. It wasn’t… me…

_Poor, weak little angel. Don’t fool yourself. That was you. You have not changed at all, and you promised to change! You promised with everything in you that you weren’t going to be the murderer you were. And you thought you could protect them! You thought you could save them! But how could they know that they needed protection from you! You could not save them. You could never save them! You could never hope to repent from what you’ve done! And you know why, Castiel? Because you can never change. You have always been this way and you will forever be this way. Hear their cries! They cried out for your help while you killed them. See their faces! They feared you til their last breath. This is who you are, Castiel._

Castiel felt his hands grow heavy as he saw them turn red. Red splotches appeared on his clothes. His whole world was turning red. He cried out but nothing happened. The faces of his past bellowed out their cries of help. He felt their hate. He felt their fear. He retreated as the faces made their way forward. He ran into something and turned to see Dean and Sam towering over him crying out for help. They reached out for him as the voice continued.

_You will always have their blood on your hands, Castiel. And no amount of redemption can save that._

 


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter eight:

 “Sammy?!”

Dean trudged through the forest, occasionally calling out names. Where had they gone? One moment he was walking along with Castiel and John when he heard something move and upon turning back, they had gone! Disappeared! First Sam and Sherlock and now Castiel and John. _One by one they left him. They always do_. Dean shook his head to clear the little voice inside it. He never approved of listening to small voices. Too often they had proven to be dangerous.

He cleared his head again and continued, but that voice had got him thinking. His mother was the only one who didn’t want to leave him. Everyone else left him. Even Sam had left him alone before. Nobody really cared about Dean. Nobody really made the effort. So Dean had lived his own life, taking over the family business after Dad and travelled in the Impala hunting. He always knew no one cared, so he tried to ostracise himself. He stayed away from anyone other than his father and his brother, maybe the occasional girlfriend here and there. But the hardest thing about not caring, is trying not to care. He tried so hard, but he couldn’t. He told himself that caring was not an advantage. He’d beaten it into himself that feelings never helped anyone. These were only weaknesses enemies could exploit. And, yet, no matter how many people tore and stepped on his heart, he couldn’t stop caring about them. 

And he knew that was going to be his downfall.

He trudged on. The forest, when taken in slowly and one had a gun and torch on hand, was strangely beautiful. He wouldn’t want to build a summer home here, but the trees were quite lovely. Taller than they had first appeared, they loomed over the great expanse. The branches were mind-bogglingly twisted into weird shapes. Each tree had a small triangle carved into their bark, just above their roots.

As to the leaves, while Dean was not a gardener, he was sure they shouldn’t be a dull grey colour and looking like they were sparingly thrown on. But one thing perplexed Dean even more: there were no leaves on the ground. Nothing crunched underfoot when he walked and nothing swished through the air in flight. Only the ground could be seen when the fog parted. Every other deathly plant in the forest had some leaves, including the thorn bushes, but these too dropped no leaves. This place was so dead even the plants were mummified in their death. Dean grimaced. He would hate for that to happen to him.  Rather a quick, painless death.

 “Dean?”

Dean spun around at the sound of Sam’s voice. His torch beam fell onto a double-storied wooden house, the entrance veranda held up by two white pillars and its timbers pained white. Dean’s heart leaped and he shook his head in disbelief. There was no way that could be here. He wasn’t even an earth anymore! But there could be no denying that standing right in front of him was the old Winchester house, still looking as pristine as he remembered it to be before the fire. Before his mother died. His feet automatically walked him up the path and onto the raised floor. He stood in front of the door, trying to bring himself to open it, when he heard Sam’s voice again, but this time coming from the back.

“Sammy?”

He kept the wall to his side, gently brushing the timber, his gun held at the ready. _I shouldn’t be afraid_ , he thought, _but something’s not right_. He turned the corner. Sam was standing casually but a little nervously beside someone he couldn’t quite make out. The gun rose.

“Dean. Glad you could make it.”

A man about the same height as Dean strode closer to him. He was well built, had dirty blond hair and clear blue eyes. But these features were only registered later, as the eye was automatically drawn to his face. The skin was pale and looked as if it was decaying while he was still alive.

“Lucifer.” The name hissed through clenched teeth.

“Hello, Dean.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Taking what is rightfully mine. Sam has agreed.”

“Agreed?” Dean stared at Sam before glancing over at Lucifer and cautiously moved forward. “Sammy, what are you doing?”

 “It’s simple, Dean. He can give me what I truly want: freedom. A chance to leave the family business. It’s the one thing I’ve always wanted and you’ve known that.”

“I just… I thought…”

“Did you really think that you were enough to prevent him leaving? To stop him from leaving you?”  

“Don’t listen to him, Sammy.”

“Do you even listen to him? He is tired, Dean, so very tired of that life. He wants me to take over.”

“No he doesn’t!”

“Why don’t you ask him them?” He gestured in Sam’s general direction.

“Sam, you’re not really listening to this guy, are you?” Sam hung his head. “A-are you? Sammy?”

“All I want is my life back, Dean. I don’t want to run around after angels or demons. I don’t want to have to keep glancing over my shoulder to make sure nothing’s trying to kill me. I don’t want that life anymore, Dean! And you can’t give it to me. You can never give that to me. I just want to be normal, and I can never be that around you.”

“But Sam, it’s Lucifer –”

“Becoming Lucifer’s vessel would be better than another day with you.”

 “Please, Sammy…. don’t leave me.”

“I’m sorry, Dean. You tried your best, you really did, but it’s not enough. Sammy doesn’t want to be let down again.”

Dean’s chest constricted and his brain tried to comprehend what he just heard. It wasn’t working. Through a haze he saw Sam turn to the man beside him and nod. Dean raised his gun and aimed it at Lucifer’s chest. He couldn’t let Sam go. He couldn’t let Lucifer destroy his little brother. He couldn’t let anything happen to him. It was his job. It was… his… A memory played in front of him. _What happened?... I, I just went out…  What?!... J-just for a second. I'm sorry…. I told you not to leave this room! I told you not to let him out of your sight!_ He wouldn’t let that happen again. He wouldn’t let Dad and Sammy down. Dean pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

Lucifer looked down at the hole in his chest, smiled, and laid a hand on Sam’s forehead. A bright light blinded Dean and he tried to run forward, screaming out to Sam. It beat him back and he raised his hand to protect his eyes, still trying to reach them. The high-pitched ringing reverberated in his mind, disorientating him and setting his teeth on edge. The light eventually subsided, and Dean looked up, afraid of what he might see. There, standing in front of him, was Sam, looking very Sam-like, except now he wore a pure white suit that reflected in Dean’s torch beam.

“I told you we would always end up here.”

Dean glared at him, hiding the pain and self-hate inside him but allowed the disgust and anger show. A smile played at the corner of Lucifer’s mouth. He cocked his head in a reptilian-like way and observed the motionless man in front of him. “Don’t look so infuriated, Dean. We both knew it would come to this. Despite all the details you tried to change and everything you tried to avoid, you forgot one little thing: nothing can stop the inevitable. Not even the great Dean Winchester. Although I have to admit, you did hide him well. It’s a good place you’ve got here.” Lucifer gestured to the forest around him. “Took me a little while to get in. It didn’t last too long though. Tell me, where’s Castiel? You two are usually inseparable. Don’t tell me he got tired of you too?”

Dean pretended that Lucifer’s words didn’t hurt him as much as they did, but a traitorous tear escaped. Lucifer smiled empathetically and nodded. “Ah, yes. Well, it was bound to happen. I assume that your friend was another human?” Dean said nothing, but he didn’t need to. “Castiel has always had a strange… infatuation with you hairless apes. None of us ever understood why. Such flawed, damaged creatures Father chose to love more than us. But Castiel always had a habit of jumping from one human to the next, usually disappearing randomly before attaching himself to another. Frankly, I’m surprised he stayed with you this long. But I guess the novelty has finally worn off. And where better to leave you but here? An inescapable hole.” Lucifer let the knowledge sink in.

Dean breathed heavily and refused to let any emotion show. He refused to accept that the two people who might have cared for him had left him. But something inside of him believed it. Because he always knew that they would leave him. Just like everyone else. He could sense them drifting and he did all that he could to keep them together. But it hadn’t worked. Nothing ever did. He felt like had been falcon punched in the gut. Fear overcame him as he realised he was alone. Abandoned by the people closest to him.

“You must hate yourself. Not being able to save your brother and letting him fall into the grasp of your most hated enemy. I understand. I really do. I didn’t want to do this, Dean. I never wanted to. But Sam was my only true vessel. I had just as much control over that as Sam did. If I could’ve chosen another, believe me, I would’ve. You boys have had so much happen to you it seems almost cruel to throw this on you as well. First your mother died, leaving you alone, and then your father left you too. Now Sam has left you yet again. It seems like there is a pattern here, can you see that? Cassie left you as soon as she knew who you really were, and even Jo preferred death. Yeah, definitely a pattern.” He clapped a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “At least I can ease your burden about Sam a bit. I’ll take good care of him. Don’t you worry about that.”

 “Get out of him.”

His voice in reply was confused but good-natured as Dean threw off his hand. “Sam wanted this. He invited me in.”

“No he didn’t. I know he didn’t. He couldn’t have.” Dean saw pity cross Lucifer’s face.

“There’s nothing you can do. You saw him nod. You saw him accept. You were too much of a disappointment. All of Sam’s fondest memories are of leaving you.”

“No they’re not.”

“Are you sure about that Dean? I can see into his mind you know. But, hey, look on the bright side Dean! You’re alone now. Go have the life you’ve always wanted! Just as Sam will be living his, away from you.”

“I will find you and I will get him back.”

“Give it up. We both know you won’t do anything. Not to dear, old Sammy.” He smirked. “When I win, I win, Dean. And there is nothing you can do about it.”

 “No. NO!” Dean rushed forward, but Lucifer disappeared. Dean screamed into the air around him. “GIVE ME BACK MY BROTHER, YOU SONNOVA –” He leapt as he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. He flung out his arm in defence and tried to find the new threat. But he couldn’t see anything. Frantically, he glanced around the forest. There had to be something there, he’d felt it! “LUCIFER?! IS THAT YOU, YOU HELL–SUCKING BAG OF –”

A strange sound came to his ears and a colourful light pointed at him. He closed his eyes and grabbed his head as he felt something seize his brain. There seemed to be a battle in his mind before he felt something recoil away to safety. He stared at the man who seemed to have suddenly appeared before him.

“Tsk tsk tsk. Language. You’d better watch that.”

“Wha–?” Dean looked around him. The house and garden had disappeared. All that remained of his encounter was the small bullet hole in the bark of the tree before him. The strange man walked a few paces before Dean could find his voice. “Who are you?”

The man stopped and faced him. “I’m the Doctor.”

“Doctor?” Dean studied the man. He was shorter than Dean and wore clothes that looked like he was trying too hard to look human. The man was obviously British.

“Doctor who?

 


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter nine:

_Flashback_

The Doctor sat alone in his TARDIS.

Blue lights pulsated in the empty space around him as he stared at the walls. He could remember a time when it was full of these strange round things. He wasn’t entirely sure what the point of them was. He had many theories – including aerodynamics, polarities of the neutron flow and even its effect on the time vortex – but the only idea that seemed to fit was that their only use was for decoration. He continued his conversation with himself.

“I’m not into all that now. All that flamboyancy and decorations. I used to love showing off, you know. Wearing fancy clothes and travelling in a fancy TARDIS. I only did it to impress people. To make a statement. Of course it was only a waste of time. Why go through all that effort when all you needed was a jacket or coat, some nice pressed pants, and serviceable but stylish shoes. What was it I wore again? Oh, yeah, vests. Vests, capes, neck ruffles, cravats, vegetables, and – ”

He groaned at a memory.

“My colours faze. It gave me a headache every time I looked in the mirror, you know. I wanted to throw it away but I thought I was being modern. Hah! Modern. I wouldn’t have known what modern was back then. I mean, it’s a miracle the people back on earth didn’t decide to blow me up when they saw me! The world of fashion would’ve thanked them for it. Nope. Simple, stylish and practical – that’s what I always say. Thankfully, I’ve gotten a sense of fashion since the Time War ended. After all, soldiers had no need for frills and lace.”

The TARDIS reflected that. Gone are the useless decorations, the unnecessary pieces. He looked back at the stark wall. He knew it was what the TARDIS did, change to reflect him. But he still wished he was able to keep the round things. You could never go wrong with the round things.

The Doctor hated being by himself. He was endlessly drifting through space and time with no purpose, no use, and no companion. He was bored. Of course, he could always travel somewhere on the edge of the universe or find some poor desperate planet that could use his help. Earth always needed his help. London in particular. He made a mental note to talk to the British Government about that the next time he was in town.

The fact that he had no companion hit him the hardest. For as long as he could remember, he had always had a companion. Someone by his side through thick and thin, someone he could just talk to, someone he could journey with. They always reminded him of who he was. He was the Doctor. But without anyone with him he felt pointless. He could travel a bit, but travelling is only fun when a friend is around to experience it with you, to ask questions, to watch him be smart. He groaned in frustration, willing for something to happen. It was at that time that the strange occurred.

His psychic paper received a message.

He fumbled through his pockets in excitement. He never got many of these, and when he did it usually meant an adventure. He opened the psychic paper and there, written in a hasty scrawl, were the words:

_I need you. I need you to come back. Help me._

He shouted thank you to anyone who would hear and leapt to the console. Tracking the message’s signal, he was able to get a lock on where it came from. He noted the location. Not a place he’d ever heard of, but it was always exhilarating to explore new places. Even if he was alone while doing it. Holding on, he prepared himself for an adventure.

Suddenly, the TARDIS gave a great jolt mid-flight. The Doctor flew through the air, stopping only when he planted head first into the console. He rubbed his head in pain, but he had bigger problems. The jolt had shoved him towards the monitor. He checked the coordinates and landing area.

“That’s not possible.”

The TARDIS was being intercepted. Something was interrupting her travelling signals and pulling her out of the vortex.

“No no no no no no no no!”

He ran around the console and desperately tried every button and leaver. He checked the monitor and the tracking signals, punching in new numbers with one hand while holding on with the other, but she was still being towed along. Sparks flew in his face and steam sprouted out of every crack. She was shuddering so hard he was finding it difficult to stay up. Nothing worked. He couldn’t bring her back under control. This was a new feeling for him. He’d always had control of the TARDIS in some aspect. Nothing like this had ever happened before. Unsure of what was about to greet him, the Doctor allowed the TARDIS to be taken and braced himself for impact.

It was not long in coming. The Doctor clung on as he felt the TARDIS land. He had never felt her take such a beating. And it was showing as well, he thought as he surveyed the TARDIS control room. Smoke was coming out of everything, groans echoed through to him from the rooms out back, and sparks seemed to think that now was the time to launch an opening ceremony. The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver and headed towards the door. He hesitated as a wisp of fog crept under the doorway, but opened it cautiously and peeped outside.

All he could see was darkness. In the light from inside the TARDIS, he could make out fog curling across the ground and gliding through like thousands of small streams. The Doctor could sense something in the darkness. He pulled out his sonic and held it out in front of him. There was something alive out there. The sonic wasn’t telling him much, except that the planet was new, although the creature out there wasn’t. It was old, perhaps as old as he was. He went back inside and collected a torch before going out into the unknown, locking the TARDIS door behind him.

“Hello?”

His voice was swallowed up into the depths. He shone his torch around him, observing every part of this new place as he could. His findings surprised him.

The plants were suspended in their normal decaying process. These plants weren’t just dead they had ceased to stop dying. Stolen from time and placed in a solidified time frame, they had kept their dying state but were prevented from continuing in their deaths. He frowned thoughtfully. What could have frozen these plants in time? His head rose as a sound drifted on the fog.

It was the sound of a small child crying.

He ran towards it. His torch fell on everything he could see, searching through the trees for some sign of the child. He fought back branches and jumped over roots, changing his direction only when needed. At one stage he thought he heard some rustling off to either side of him, but it was gone quickly and he focused once more on the cry. The more he ran, the more a slither of doubt wormed through his mind. He slowed to a stop. Perhaps it was best if he went back. He turned around and was caught staring into the eyes of a small child, tears glistening in the light. The Doctor’s face immediately turned into a smile and his body relaxed to form a friendly stance.

“Hello there. What’s your name?”

“Alwatika,” a frightened voice squeaked at him. “Are you here to find my Mummy?”

“Why, Alwatika? What happened to her?”

“She’s gone. They took her.”

“Who did? Who took her?”

“They did.” The child pointed into the darkness. The Doctor shone the torch in that direction but couldn’t see anything. The Doctor took a few paces before turning back to the child.

“What was your name again?”

“Alwatika.” The child’s face was fixed in an expression of terror.

“No. Your real name. Who are you? You’re not a child and you most certainly are not scared. Your tears have not fallen since I began to talk to you, even though a few are on your cheek, and your crying, while authentic, did not increase or decrease in volume during the time I took to find you. Not to mention that you mysteriously appeared after I was thinking of going back. So, I’m only going to ask you this one more time: Who are you?”

A smirk came onto their face as they began to dissolve into the fog. “I’m your worst nightmare, Doctor.”

He stood there watching the point where the child had stood before turning around and heading back to the TARDIS. Part of him warned him to get out of this place, but the greater part of him was curious and intrigued. He thought back to the TARDIS where he was alone and bored. Safe, but bored. On the other hand, if he stayed here he may die, but at least it’ll be an interesting process. A smile stole its way upon his face as he set out to investigate.

It was a very disappointing walk. Nothing jumped out at him or did anything interesting. Just fog drifting on the ground and trees passing by. For a mysterious place it wasn’t really holding up to its potential. He’d had more fun storming a Dalek spaceship surrounded by their whisk laser things about to be fried to death. Maybe he should just head back to the TARDIS now.

That was when he heard the gunshot.

Jumping into action, the Doctor rushed through the trees towards the sound. It sounded like an argument or a fight. Pushing the last of the branches away, the Doctor came upon the sight of a lone man surround by fog talking at air. Or _to_ the air. Or the tree, but he wasn’t convinced about that last one. He also couldn’t decide which one would make the man seem more or less sane. He wondered if it was talking back.

He took the sonic out of his pocket and searched the space in front of the man. Nothing. The man really was shouting at air. He lent forward and eased the gun out of the man’s hand.

“Hello? Excuse me, sorry, are you ok?”

The man didn’t relax his stance. The Doctor moved in front of him and stood between the man and the offensive air. The man didn’t move. He appeared to look straight past him. The Doctor followed his gaze and searched in that general area as the man grew silent. The Doctor looked back. He was just standing there, fingers twitching on the trigger of his gun. No sound. No movement. He just stood there.

The Doctor jumped slightly as the man shouted and ran forward without warning. He shouted a few more times before the Doctor was able to lay a hand on his shoulder to wake him up from his madness. The man recoiled at his touch and took up a defensive stance against him before shouting again.

He seemed like he was about to use some pretty colourful language. The Doctor raised his sonic screwdriver and pointed it at the man’s face. He couldn’t be having that.

It was time to introduce himself.

 


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter ten: 

“Aliens?”

“Yes.”

“You’re saying that aliens could be behind all this?”

“Yeah.”

Dean sighed as his headache grew. He and the Doctor had been walking together trying to find the others for ages, especially Sam, and he was certain that if they didn’t find them soon he might go insane. Aliens were not his strong point.

“Look here, Giorgio A. Tsoukalos, aliens don’t exist. The only things out there beyond human beings are supernatural entities. Trust me, I’ve seen them.”

“Of course aliens are real. Trust me, I’ve seen them.” The Doctor thought carefully before deciding to add: “They also know about earth and have their sights set on it.”

“’Sights set on it’? Then why haven’t they invaded yet? We’re not exactly prepared or-or well-guarded, now are we?”

“Yes you are. You are very well guarded.”

“By what? Area 51?”

The man turned to face Dean, a menacing twinkle in his eye. “By me.”

“How?”

The Doctor smiled knowingly and kept walking. Understanding that this meant he wasn’t going to tell him, Dean changed the topic.

“I’ve seen you before. You ran past us.”

“It’s possible. I do a lot of running.”

“Doc, how’d you get here?”

“The TARDIS. I received a message asking for help and I followed it. However, I was intercepted mid-flight and landed here.”

“The TARDIS? Is that like a plane?”

A small chuckle escaped the Doctor. “In a way.”

“What message did you get?” The Doctor handed over his psychic paper wordlessly. Dean’s mouth moved to the words soundlessly before pointing at the paper. “These are the same words that Cas heard.”

“Cas?”

“An Angel.”

“So, how are our arrivals similar?”

“Cas heard these words, came to us thinking that we prayed it, then tried to teleport us home but we ended up here, and – ”

“Wait.” The Doctor held up his hand to stem Dean’s flow of words. “This angel can teleport you? Anywhere? Can it take you across time?”

“Sure, we did it not too long ago. Been a few years into the future, then went to meet the parents when they were young. It’s not very exciting; he just randomly appears out of nowhere. Like you might be getting dressed and he’ll just appear. One minute there’s empty space, blink, and there he is. He’s given us a few heart-attacks, I’ll tell you that. But he is getting better, especially since I explained to him what personal space meant.”

“Where is he?”

“He should still be with a friend of mine. I lost them a little while back, though.”

“Well, come on, then. Start looking!”

Dean watched the man practically bounce from tree to tree searching for clues. Realising that this madman was his only chance of finding the others, Dean followed – albeit, in a much straighter line than the Doctor, who would occasionally rush off and wave a strange device at random plants.

“Why do you keep trying? You know it doesn’t work on wood. You curse it every time it fails to do anything.”

“Look, I’ve been on many planets and amongst many different people. Big planets, small planets, water planets, planets with creatures living in the middle of it, I’ve been to them all, and it is usually common to find that they all have at least one inhabitant. Have you seen anyone or thing that could be classed as a native inhabitant? Because I haven’t. I’m assuming that this dweller is hiding in plain sight, right under our noses, hence the random tree poking.”

“You think the native is a tree?”

The Doctor looked at Dean unimpressed. “No, Dean. I think it’s trying to _look_ like the tree.”

“Calm down there, Marvin. Don’t want to be vaporized now do I?”

The Doctor opened his mouth in protest when they heard a cry for help. Swapping glances, together they ran off towards the sound. The cry sounded again, louder this time. Dean recognized the voice. “It’s John.”

“The one with the angel?”

Dean nodded and plunged his hand into his pocket, pulling out his gun.

“No guns.”

Dean glanced at the Doctor’s determined face.

“Do you know what’s here?”

“No – ”

“Then I’m having my gun.”

“It being dead won’t help!” The Doctor shouted, shoving away a branch. “It might be able to help us! It might even be a new species! Either way it does not deserve to die!”

“Neither do I, Doctor, which is why I’m keeping the gun!”

They suddenly came upon a scene that made them stop in their tracks. There was John and Castiel, struggling with the Angel Blade pointed towards Castiel. John seemed to be trying to pull it away from him, but Castiel seemed to be reluctant to let go. He didn’t fight John. He just refused to give it up. John looked up and saw Dean.

“Dean, don’t let him get it!”

Dean tried to dislodge the blade from Castiel’s grip, but his grasp was firm and wouldn’t budge. He heard the screwdriver behind him and almost fell as Castiel’s grasp suddenly became limp. John clamoured to his feet. Castiel stared at Dean intently, trying to find some logical reason as to why he was alive.

“Dean?”

“Yes, Cas?”

“You’re not dead.”

“Any reason why I should be?”

Castiel struggled with the words. “You died, Dean. You and Sam. I killed you. Just like the others.” Eyes wide, Castiel sought the faces of his past around him, but all he could see were fog and trees. The faces that haunted him had gone. They were replaced by Dean’s as he laid his hands on either side of Castiel’s shoulders.

“Cas. They weren’t real. Whatever you saw didn’t happen.”

“Really? Really, Dean? Explain that to the faces. Explain that to those from my past! They knew it happened. I saw them, Dean. The people I’ve hurt, the ones I’ve killed and tortured in the name of my Father. The lives I have stolen on my way! The ends never justified the means! I’ve always known that it wouldn’t be long until you two joined the ranks of the dead.”

Castiel stared into Dean’s eyes, willing him to understand.

“I saw myself kill you, Dean. Right after I stabbed Sam. It was then that I realised that I will never be able to atone for my actions. No matter what I do, no matter who I help or save, I will never be redeemed. I know what you’re going to say, and it does not work that way. A life saved does not redeem an Angel from a life time of wickedness. It only condemns him more. Through the act of saving another, a man shows his heart. Through the act of an Angel saving a human, an Angel shows his weakness. By saving them, the Angel does what no Angel should do: grow close to them. Soon they get ideas and start thinking, they start questioning, and they slowly begin to change. They turn human. That’s what I’ve become, Dean. I have become human. There is no redemption for me. There never will be. So I decided to end it now, rather than live another couple of centuries ruining people like you!”

Dean stared at his friend, unsure of what to say. The words hurt him. Not because of what Castiel was saying but rather the amount of pain and hopelessness that embodied every word. He remembered when he felt like that. It seemed so long ago now, but it wasn’t. It never truly left you. Dean decided to keep it simple.

“Cas, I know you’ve done some things in the past that you are not proud of. Memories of past people and times haunt your every move. Events, actions, words – they all come together to create a pit inside you that, if you were given the chance, you would give your life to change. They weigh you down, and if you don’t let go of them they slowly start crushing you from the inside-out. Sometimes you feel like you can’t move because of it. They are the memories you wish you could forget, but never could. I know them, Cas. I know them well.”

“No you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. They are the thoughts that you feel like you could never redeem yourself of, like no matter how many times you’ve tried to wipe the slate it never rubs off clean. I’ve killed people too, you know. I’ve hurt those closest to me, and I tortured others in Hell to try and relieve my own pain. And you know what? I enjoyed it too. I enjoyed the suffering of other human beings, simply because they weren’t my own. How do you think I feel living with that every day of my life? I know what I’ve become, and I know who I am. I am a monster, Cas, barely even human. But you know what else I know?” Dean moved closer to Castiel. “I know that dying is not the answer. Killing myself now will solve nothing. And you know what else? I know that even if I have the devil himself chasing me, craving my blood, I know that things will get better. I have hope that this time I can save a life – a life that wouldn’t have been saved if I wasn’t alive. I fight, Cas. I fight every day for what I have. I fight for Sam. I fight for you. I fight for those I may save while I’m still alive. That’s what you have to do, Cas, you have to find something worth fighting for and fight for it every day. Because the road isn’t easy and there’s no downhill slope from here. You’ll wake up and you’ll have to climb up the slope from the time you open your eyes. But listen to me, Cas. There is hope. You are not alone, and you do not have to let your past rule your future. Look ahead, Cas. _There_ is your saving grace. _That_ is your hope.”

Castiel heard the sincerity in Dean’s voice and thoughts. He had some idea of what Dean had gone through in perdition and had sometimes caught Dean dwelling on the memories. It was obvious that Dean hated himself because of it, and as much as his words were soothing to him, Castiel couldn’t forget his fear. He would hurt his friends in the same way that he hurt everyone else, he was sure of it. That was his future. And he couldn’t see much hope in that. However, there was nowhere he could go, and Dean and Sam still needed him to get back. He couldn’t leave. Not yet. But even now he could still kill them and everyone else around him. He was too dangerous. He looked down at his glowing hand and turned it off with a sense of finality. He tucked the angel blade away where he couldn’t get it in a hurry. For the sake of everyone, he would no longer use his powers. He turned to the shorter man beside him.

“Thank you, John, for stopping me killing myself. I’m sorry if I hurt you in any way.”

“No, no, Castiel, you didn’t hurt me. And while I cannot fully grasp your pain, I, too, have been there. I came back from the war in Afghanistan injured and found myself lost with no purpose. If it hadn’t been for Sherlock I think I would have pulled the trigger a long time ago. Knowing what I know now, living everything that I could’ve missed if I had died, I cannot bear to see another end their life early; to follow the same footsteps that I followed. I think of it as a mountain and they’re stuck at the base of it. They only see the climb, the darkness that the mountain throws over them. They can’t see over the top of the mountain, so they think that there’s nothing. But they can’t see what I can see. I can see a sunrise waiting to greet them. I can see a whole new world for them, right on the other side. Some climb, some fall and climb again, others stay at the base. But there are a few who climb and then decide to let go. I would hate for you to be one of those, Castiel. I would’ve hated for you to miss the sunrise.”

The two men smiled at each other, John’s bigger than Castiel’s. Dean rested a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and gently gripped him encouragingly. Knowing that Castiel would want some time to think, Dean took charge.

“Let’s go find the others.”


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter eleven:

The Doctor smiled as he felt the three young men unite. Not wanting to be the third wheel, so to say, he had previously jumped into the fray and was now walking abreast of them. He had just told them of the time he had single-handedly defeated a human-devouring cockroach and saved the spaceship involved. Needless to say, while a little disturbed, the boys had enjoyed it and were now discussing the reality of life beyond earth. They had bonded rather well even if they were a bit anxious to find their friends, and the Doctor loved nothing more than seeing men united.

Hope was a powerful thing.

He should know all about that. It was something he tried to bring with him wherever he went. When people are panicking and the planet is in turmoil, people begin to lose hope. And with hope gone, they begin to lose sight of living and the reason to continue in their fight. Wars are won and lost on hope. If one side loses hope, the army would crumble. That’s why the Daleks were such perfect soldiers – they felt nothing, and so have no need for hope. They could overrun any planet within a matter of days – they could even begin to lose – and yet they would win because they never gave up. But give a man hope, and they could defeat any adversary, even one as ruthless as the Daleks. That’s why he helped people. Because, even if they don’t realise it, hope was the greatest weapon he could give them.

The Doctor stopped mid-thought as he realised he was alone again. The others had stopped a few paces back: John and Castiel looking at Dean, Dean watching a flashing light through the trees. The Doctor walked closer as John moved behind Dean to watch the light. It was flashing on and off in patterns.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” The Doctor leant closer to Dean.

“It’s Sam.”

“And therefore Sherlock as well.” John added to Dean’s identification.

“Yes, but what does it say?”

“Man down.”

Dean and John made a mad rush into the trees. Dean was ahead, but John was not far behind. Together they sprinted as the worst-case scenarios formed in their minds.  When they came across the two men, John’s heart sank as he realised that not only had his fears become a reality but it was worse than he could imagine.

Sam was crouched over a broken Sherlock, all life gone from his face. His face was ashen and his bones jutted out. His eyes were sunken and red-rimmed, and he was so still John thought he wasn’t breathing. He felt Sam’s hand on his arm.

“He’s not dead, but I’m not entirely sure he’s alive either.”

John’s eyes never left his friend’s face. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. He was talking about hearing someone screaming and then we ran. We ran for a bit, stopped to look at some footprints he said were there, ran some more then stopped, turned around and ran some more until he stopped here. I didn’t know what was happening. He just knelt down and stayed there. He didn’t notice me at all. I walked around the clearing to make sure we were safe, but he started screaming in pain, almost as if he was being burned alive. I grabbed him and tried to calm him down, but he hasn’t said a thing, only to whisper your name once. I’ve looked over him and I can see no physical wound. I’m sorry, John. I didn’t know what to do.”

John nodded and walked towards Sherlock, dimly aware of Dean drawing close his brother behind him. He crouched in front of Sherlock and tried to catch his eye. His breath left him as he saw his friend’s empty eyes, and understood Sam’s words. Sherlock was alive only in the sense that he was breathing. There was nothing else to indicate life. It was like someone had stolen his soul from him. There was nothing left of him but an empty shell.

“Sherlock?” John called his name softly, settling into a comfortable position. “Sherlock, can you hear me? It’s me, John. Remember me, Sherlock? Can you look at me? Can you do that for me, Sherlock, you friend John?”

“You are not John.” Sherlock’s voice was lifeless, very different to the voice he knew. “Not my John. I killed my John. I failed him. I followed the wrong tracks; I never got there in time. I let my John down. You can still see his ashes. Over there.” His head turned to a large bare piece of ground. “Moriarty was right. He really did burn my heart.”

John felt his chest constrict as he closed his eyes. He tried to control his emotions, but seeing Sherlock empty at the thought of his death tore at him. He began to feel the tears form and the blockage tighten his throat. He forced both of these down and drew a shaking breath.

“Sherlock, listen to me carefully. Everything you’ve just seen, everything you thought you experienced, wasn’t real.”

“Then what was it?”

“I don’t know – a hallucination. Whatever it was it didn’t happen. Believe me, Sherlock. I’m the real John Watson. I’m alive. Please, Sherlock. Believe me.”

“Why? It is possible when someone grieves to see the person who died. But they’re not real. They are just hallucinations. John is dead. I know – I killed him. I saw it happen. He’s gone.”

“No, Sherlock, I’m not. I’m still here.” John’s voice cracked, but he no longer cared. “Sherlock, I know you have done some pretty horrible things to me: you’ve pretended to die in front of me, you pretended to blow up a train in front of me, you’ve left me to pay for taxi rides and you never clean up after your experiments. I’ve found human heads in the fridge door! I’ve seen you on danger nights and I’ve dug you out of a drug lair. I’ve seen you rise to fame, I’ve seen you smile with your friends and I’ve heard your speech at my wedding. I have seen you at your best and your worst times. But there are a few things I haven’t realised. Not until now. While I’ve shot a man for you and stood by your side, you pretended to die for me, you dragged me out of a fire to save me, you’ve almost died in real life in front of me, and you’ve shot a man in the head for me. There is nothing in this world you would not do for me. I know I have no right to ask you of this, but I need one more thing: I need you to come back to me. That is all I ask and if you can do that, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, then…… Please, Sherlock. Come back, for me.”

Sherlock’s eyes rose to meet John’s. He dared not wish it, but he thought that he could see a little bit of life twinkle at him. John held Sherlock’s hand and whispered, “I’m here, Sherlock. I’m really here.”

“John.”

John stared at Sherlock’s features which, while still paler than John would have liked, began to show some signs of life. A weak and slightly distant smile came upon Sherlock’s face. John smiled in return and faced the others. They all stood together, waiting silently for the news. Upon seeing John’s smile, they relaxed reassured.

“He’s going to be ok, but I don’t want to move him. Do you mind if we stay here a little bit?”

Dean immediately took charge. “Of course. Sam and I will see if we can get a fire going to warm him up. We’ll take Cas with us for light. The Doc can stay. I think he might be of more use here than with us.” John smiled gratefully. The three men left together as the Doctor knelt beside John, who was trying to ease Sherlock onto the ground. It was harder than usual due to Sherlock refusing to let go of John’s hand, but with the two of them they eventually lowered him on his side.

There they sat in companionable silence, listening to Sherlock’s heavy breathing, and waited for the other’s return.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come and talk to me at yeditsaj.tumblr.com. I would love to hear from you.

Chapter twelve:

“How are you feeling now, Sherlock?”

Sherlock glanced up at Dean, the light from the fire reflecting onto his face. After many attempts, the Winchester brothers had somehow found a way to create fire. Sherlock knew he shouldn’t be surprised, but he was impressed in spite of himself. Every now and then he thought he could see John burning in the fire, but he only looked at John and relaxed. He didn’t think he could ever forget what he saw, but at this point in time he didn’t care. John was alive and trusted in Sherlock, and that was all that mattered.

“Fine.”

Voices bubbled through the group. Sam and the Doctor began to talk and John quickly joined in, Sherlock beside him, and Castiel sat next to Dean.

“Did you see your fear, Dean? When you were by yourself?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

Castiel waited for Dean to continue, but got nothing more. “What did you see?”

“Nothing, Cas.”

“Dean.”

Dean rose and threw another log onto the fire, ignoring Castiel’s stare and turned to the Doctor. “Ok, Doc. What’s the low-down? Any ideas on what’s happening, what we’re up against, why we’re seeing things?”

“You must be aware that I do not have all the answers. I don’t know exactly where we are, though I know we are not on earth. No doubt you have already figured this one out. I have a vague idea of what we’re up against, but nothing solid. Even I have not seen everything in the universe. All I can safely say at this point in time is that our enemy is telepathic.” He saw the disbelieving faces around him. “No, really. A lot of creatures are telepathic.”

“We know, Doctor, I am one myself.” Castiel spoke. “We don’t disbelieve you on that part. It’s just that a creature that powerful – and it would have to be to achieve all that it has done – could not be able to become invisible as well. Why haven’t we seen it?”

“Maybe they wipe our memories of it.”

“Possible. Have you ever encountered something able to do that?”

The Doctor sighed. “Not one that ticks all the boxes, but I have said that I haven’t seen everything in this universe. It might just be able to.”

“You know there is a very easy explanation for this?” All eyes lay on Sherlock. “It is also logical and makes total sense. Baskerville.” John gasped in understanding while the others just stood still in incomprehension.

Sam leant forward.

“What happened at Baskerville?”

“About two to three years ago,” John explained, “Sherlock took a case near Baskeville, a top secret military weapons testing facility, which, as Sherlock and I found out, included the testing of chemical, biological and drug-based weapons. It was this latter one that we realised was being illegally used on our client. One of the researchers had improved a previously developed drug that could be dispensed via aerosol spray, and which created an overwhelming fear in the participant. This man wanted to keep our client silent and so was feeding him the drug by the aerosol dispersant, introducing stimulus to create the desired effect of fear.”

“So you’re suggesting that we have ingested some kind of drug.”

“Indeed, Doctor.” Sherlock answered. “Just as the drug had been dispensed via aerosol, so could the drug be given to us. There is plenty of fog around. It could be in there.”

“Makes sense, Doc.”

“True, but I don’t think it’s that simple. I shall keep it in mind.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing. Sam was lost in thought before he absently realised that he had been staring at the small pile of logs for the past couple of minutes. He announced that he was going to get some more.

“I’ll come with you,” John offered, springing to his feet. “Sherlock’s ok and I could use a bit of movement.” Sam smiled in friendship and they headed off together. The Doctor pulled Castiel aside, leaving Sherlock and Dean to chat.

“Castiel, I just wanted to say that I understand how you feel. I know what it’s like doing something you regret and having to live centuries with that guilt. I understand the knowledge of eternity and the fear of no redemption. I’ve killed people, I’ve let people die. I’ve failed to help people in their time of need, and I have ruined people’s lives and left them without another word. For centuries I have roamed all of time and space, and the thing I’ve realised is that with every century the guilt only grows stronger. I have a time machine but I can’t go back and fix my mistakes. That eats at you. But I agree with Dean. Even with eternity before you, you have to keep going. Who knows? You might save twice as many lives by staying alive. Hang in there. It’ll all work out.”

Castiel said nothing, but the Doctor knew what he was going through. He laid a hand on Castiel’s knee and began telling him of all his misadventures. Dean and Sherlock watched from the other side of the fire.

“Did your friend see something?”

“Cas? Yeah. If it wasn’t for the Doc I think he would’ve killed himself. John was trying to intervene when we got there.”

“That’s John. Always saves the life.”

“And what do you do?”

“Not that. John sees the person and tries to save him from dying. I stand there and try to figure out how he got there.”

“Fair enough. Both have their places. Sam and I are the same.”

“…Sam relies on you, Dean. He was restless when we lost you.”

“Yeah, and…?”

“I know what you saw in your fear. I’ve seen you two interact. Sam is your life, your purpose. He’s why you get up every morning. You stand over him protectively and get edgy whenever he’s not by your side. I think it is a fair assumption to say that a life for you without Sam wouldn’t be worth living. Your worst fear is Sam leaving you, either through death or rejection. For Sam, you would be willing to do anything.” He looked at Dean out of the corner of his eye and saw him agree silently.

“And the same goes for you and John.”

Sherlock was about the respond when a cry shattered the air around them.

 “NOOOOOO!”

Everyone leapt to their feet as the cry reverberated through them. Sherlock pulled a stick out of the fire and ran towards the sound. “JOHN!” The others followed close behind him, flames snatching at the air. They didn’t have far to go before they saw them.

John was lying on the ground, gasping for air, as Sam tightened his grip on John’s throat, his eyes pitch black.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter thirteen:

Sherlock wasted no time. He turned to Dean and snatched Dean’s gun from his pocket. He aimed it at Sam’s head, but Dean attacked him. They fell to the ground, struggling for the upper hand. Sherlock frantically fought for his only friend’s life, but Dean was fighting for his little brother.

“Let go, Dean! John’s dying!”

“I will not let you kill Sam!”

“Look closer, Dean! Whatever that is, it is no longer your brother! You cannot save him! Dean, let me save John.”

“Not if it means killing Sam.” He struck Sherlock in the ribs and tore the gun out of his hands. Leaving Sherlock wheezing on the ground, Dean turned back to the action.

Acting on the same instinct as Sherlock, Castiel had rushed over to Sam and hurled him off John. But Sam was quick and rolled, using the momentum to spring back at the Angel. Castiel was the stronger of the two, but that was before. Sam was growing stronger – stronger than when he was human – and he was steadily bearing down on Castiel. Castiel kicked out. Sam fell to his knees as his leg crumbled. Castiel was on top of him, hands clutching Sam’s head. Castiel wanted to exorcize him, to get rid of the demon inside him, but that would involve using his powers and it would hurt Sam. Instead he tried to distract him, but Sam reached behind him pulled Castiel’s arms apart. An expression of surprise and fear flashed across Castiel’s features before Sam gripped him by the throat.

“Doc! Use the stick!”

“Screwdriver! And I’m trying! Something is interfering with it! Distract him!”

The Doctor searched around him for anything he could use against Sam, but nothing popped into mind. Still, there had to be something, surely. Suddenly, the Doctor heard Sherlock’s voice in his ear.

“I’ve got a plan. Give me as much time as possible.”

Sherlock dashed back into the trees behind them. The Doctor ran over to a tree and tried to break off a branch. He heard a grunt and saw Castiel flying into a tree. He winced as an audible _crack_ rang through the circle. Castiel lay on the ground, groaning. He saw Sam smirk evilly and stride towards Dean.

Dean looked at the approaching figure of Sam and could see no remnant of his brother in those eyes. He raised his gun and aimed for his face. He wouldn’t shoot him if he had a choice, but he wasn’t keen on dying horribly.

“Sammy, it’s me. Calm down. Fight it. This is not you. This will never be you unless you fight it. You can change your future, Sam. Don’t give in. Sam? Sammy?!” Sam did not react, the smirk plastered on his face growing as he came closer.

Sam was almost within arm’s reach when Dean saw something out of the corner of his eye. As he stared at Sam, another stick hit the side of Sam’s head. He turned to see Sherlock pull back his arm and let loose another projectile.

“Sherlock!”

Dean moved forward slightly, but stopped and looked down at the gun in his hand. It was his only choice, wasn’t it? He looked up into Sam’s face, seeing too late the backhand that flattened him.

The Doctor saw Dean go down and Sam head for Sherlock. He had no idea what Sherlock was doing as Sherlock seemed to play the most dangerous game of cat and mouse. He would run around through the trees as Sam chased him, never getting out of sight. It wasn’t until the Doctor saw Castiel hidden in a tree that he began to understand. He quickly scanned Dean when saw him sit up, holding his head. He turned his attention back to his screwdriver, occasionally glancing up at Sam.

Sherlock ran. Sam was faster than he had given him credit for, and it was all he could do to stay ahead of him. He watched for Castiel’s signal. He was running out of breath when it came: three short flashes of light from his palm. Sherlock dug deep and with one last ounce of effort, drew Sam underneath the tree which Castiel was hiding in. He heard a satisfying _thud_ from behind him as Castiel dropped from above onto Sam’s shoulders. Castiel once more tried to sedate him. Sam lashed out, knocking Sherlock into a tree unconscious. He managed to tear Castiel off him and began to beat him senseless.

Dean was torn.

He had a gun in his hand – a means to stop Sam – but couldn’t raise it. Not against his little brother. Echoes of Sam and Dean as kids ribboned through his consciousness. Times where Sam needed help, when he would call to Dean, not to Dad, to save him. Times when Sam was hungry and Dean gave up his only food for him. Times when they hung out alone and watched the stars. Times when Sam had been beaten up and Dean rushed to help.

_We both know you won’t do anything. Not to dear, old Sammy._

It was Dean’s job to protect his brother. Even if it meant dying at his hands. Dean raised his gun and shot into the air. Distracted from Castiel, Sam turned to Dean. He allowed himself to be picked up by Sam’s large hands, refusing to break eye-contact. Sam stopped when Dean was about eye height. Dean saw something flicker in his eyes.

“Dean?”

Dean grinned in joy as Sam seemed to recognise him. But his joy was short-lived as the smirk came back even more sinister than before.

“Goodbye, brother.”

His fingers wrapped around Dean’s throat. Dean willed Sam to recognise him, to stop what he was doing. He willed him to remember. But the grip only tightened. Dean was fading. Pain was rushing to his head. His lungs were ready to give in. And then he saw the Doctor behind Sam and a colourful light pointing to his back. The relief was instantaneous. Sam immediately let go upon realising what was happening and dropped to his knees beside his gasping brother, hardly breathing through the apologies.

Sherlock lay beside John groaning, clutching his ribs in pain. John looked the worst for wear. His clothes were torn and already bruises from Sam’s fingers were black against his neck. If it wasn’t for the reassuring movement from his breathing, Sherlock would have thought him dead. John opened his eyes, grunted, and closed them again, as if to go back to sleep. Sherlock grinned painfully and pulled himself up. He was sitting up by the time John joined him. Despite a concerned glance from John, Sherlock refused to let him know the pain he was in. After all, he’d had worse. They helped each other up before heading back to the others. The Doctor stood before them.

“I think we had better return to the fire, and then, John and Sam, I think you had better tell us what happened.” They made their way back, sat down, and made themselves comfortable as John began to tell his story.

“It began when I could no longer see Sam…”

 


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter fourteen:

_Flashback_

John had lost sight of Sam. He wasn’t entirely sure how he managed to achieve that, but he had. For a man as tall as him, he should be towering over the fog like a lighthouse, John thought. He sighed and held the glowing box closer. Despite all that he had gone through, he still had the box. It made him remember Baker Street and the simpler cases. John had assumed Sam had returned and picked up his bundle of sticks when he heard Mary call his name.

Oh, no. He wasn’t going to fall into that _that_ easily. There was no possible way that Mary could be here. The voice kept calling but John ignored it, willing his muscles to ignore his immediate reaction of running after her. The calling soon stopped and John smiled proudly. It would take a little more than that to get to him.

He arrived at the campfire, the Doctor and Sam on one side of the fire and Castiel and Dean sitting opposite them next to the pile of firewood. Odd, he thought, wasn’t Dean talking to Sherlock before? And wasn’t the Doctor in deep conversation with Castiel? Something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He joined his firewood to the one stacked up and headed towards the Doctor.

“Where’s Sherlock?”

“He’s not with you? He left a few minutes ago.”

John sighed and stormed into the forest after him. Why did Sherlock always do this? He worried too much, that was his problem. Rather than wait a few minutes for John to come back, he just strolls into the deep, dark and scary forest to find him. It wasn’t as if John had disappeared for long. He wandered further into the woods, calling Sherlock’s name. Typical, the man doesn’t even answer him.

“John? John, help! It’s Dean. I think he’s dead.”

John hesitated before heading off after the voice. There he found Sherlock kneeling over a still Dean. He dropped to the floor and searched for a pulse, first in the wrist, then the neck. He could locate a faint flickering of movement. He checked Dean’s breathing, but there was no sign of breath. John placed Dean on his back, unbuttoned his shirt and performed CPR.

“What. Happened. To. Him?” John grunted to Sherlock between compressions.

“I don’t know,” Sherlock replied. “I just saw him when he collapsed. I was about to get someone when I heard you close by.”

“How. Convenient.” John muttered to himself. “Sherlock. Check. Dean’s. Pulse.”

Sherlock leant over to feel Dean’s neck. “I can’t feel anything.”

“What. Do. You. Mean. You. Can’t. Feel. Anything?” John finished the compressions and placed his fingers to Dean’s pulse expertly. He couldn’t find anything. “No, Dean. Don’t you dare.” He turned back to Dean and continued doing CPR, more vigorous than before. He refused to give up on Dean, but as he continued to inflate and compress John could tell that it wasn’t working. Dean was dead. John sat back on his heels and calmed himself. He always got emotional when he couldn’t save someone. But sometimes it happens, as John learnt very quickly in Afghanistan. People stop breathing, and there’s nothing you can do. It was never your fault, and you can only stand up and continue on with your life.

John rubbed his temples. “What was he doing here, Sherlock? I thought I saw him at the campfire only a few minutes ago.”

“I think he came looking for me.”

“And that’s why you shouldn’t walk off on your own.”

A low groan of pain ahead of them caught their attention.

“I don’t think he was alone, John.”

Glancing down at Dean and knowing that he could do no more for him, John burst through the trees at a gallop. There he saw Castiel fighting with the Doctor, his blade drawn and raised. John shouted out and as the Doctor was distracted by John, Castiel’s blade came down and stabbed him in the chest. John scurried to his side as he fell and caught him before lowering him to the ground.

“Doctor? Doctor, stay with me. What happened between you and Castiel?”

The Doctor mumbled something incoherently.

“Doctor, I’m going to need you to speak louder and clearer. What happened?”

The Doctor was losing a lot of blood very quickly. John’s hands moved swiftly as he sought to stave the bleeding. He took off his jumper and tore his shirt for bandages. He wrapped them around the wound, all the while trying to keep the Doctor talking. He finished and leant back, watching the Doctor’s face.

Any minute now he should begin to start looking a little more alive. But his face grew paler and his body began to seize up. John checked the bandages again and again, finding nothing wrong with them. Then he remembered how long the blade was and looked at the Doctor’s back. There, underneath where the entry wound was, seeped the blade’s exit wound.

John cursed himself as he tried to bandage the second injury. He could feel the Doctor’s life leaving him. He finished his work, but he knew he was out of time. The Doctor’s pulse flickered then died. John bowed his head in mourning, apologising silently to the Doctor over and over again for his stupidity. He knew it wouldn’t do anything. His words and regret couldn’t save him. His stupidity could most certainly kill him, though. In fact, it did! John’s breaths came in ragged gasps as emotion threatened to take over.

“I’m sorry, John.”

Castiel stood staring at John. John didn’t know what to say. Both Dean and the Doctor were dead because of him; Dean because he couldn’t revive him, the Doctor because of his own stupidity. It didn’t matter that he didn’t kill them because it was him that couldn’t save them. Just when they needed him the most, John had failed them. And now they were gone.

“What happened?”

Castiel didn’t react. John fought to remain in control of himself. He had obviously been out of action for far too long. While he was in the army, he wouldn’t have even battered an eyelid at dozens of men dying. Now, however, he was welling up over a small amount of loss of life. He had no idea what had come over him.

“You couldn’t save them, John.”

John paused. “What?”

“Why you’re far more emotional now than when you were at war. You were able to save the soldiers’ lives, but not for Dean or the Doctor.” Castiel was silent for a moment before continuing. “Don’t blame yourself over the Doctor’s death. It was my fault. Just another face to join the ranks.”

“Ranks? Of what?”

“Faces. Humans like yourself undeserving of death and pain, which is exactly what I gave them. Those I have ruined, killed, and even tortured as a means to achieving the ultimate end. I have an eternity in front of me, John, to reflect on my actions. To regret every single aspect of my life. And that knowledge haunts me more than anything else. More than my regrets and guilt-ridden memories, I fear eternity. I will not allow that to happen.”

“Cas… what are you talking about?” John slowly rose to his feet.

“Goodbye, John.” Castiel raised his blade above his chest, ready to plunge it into himself.

“Wait, Cas, wait.”

“You failed to stop me last time, John. What makes you think things will be different?”

“Please, Cas. Don’t.”

Castiel smiled sadly and turned his attention to his blade once more. John ran forwards and tried to tackle him, but it was like tackling a brick wall. He did not move. John pulled at the blade to get it out of Castiel’s hands, but he might as well be trying to move Big Ben. He heard Castiel sigh in his ear.

“Oh, John, if only you could save me.”

John cried out as he felt Castiel move. He felt the warmth of his blood on his chest, heard his last breath escape his body, saw his life leave his eyes. John stood panting, numb, tears running freely down his cheeks as he held the limp form of Castiel. He knew why Castiel had done it but he didn’t understand why he had to do it. Nothing was worth the taking of a life. Castiel still had so much to live, so much to do, so many lives to save. John had looked down the mountain, seen Castiel climb the cliff, and then watched him plummet to his death. Behind him, as John stood on top of the mountain, the sunrise began to set.

John turned to look at the deathly forms of Dean and the Doctor. Dean, now vulnerable and weak, and the Doctor, eyes still staring vacantly at the sky, were grim statues proclaiming John’s inability to save. He was a doctor who couldn’t save people. He turned to Sherlock, but he wasn’t next to him. Alone with his failures, self-hate coursed through John’s body.

A strangled cry burst through his anger. He followed it with his eyes and saw Sam choking a rapidly weakening Sherlock.

“NOOOOOO!”

Fury surged through him, fired by his desperation and fear for Sherlock. He charged at Sam. All logic and reason had gone from his mind as he tackled him to the ground. Sam let go of Sherlock, disappearing into the trees, but John could recognise the face of death. He dropped to the ground beside his friend, caressing his head to his chest. John did not cry for his friend. The strength of his grief went beyond that. He constantly whispered apologies, praying to anyone that could hear to take his life instead and not let Sherlock die due to John’s failure. But it appeared no one was listening. Sherlock’s face, still twisted in pain in death, remained unchanged.

“Sherlock, please. Don’t be dead. Please, Sherlock. For me.”

But he didn’t hear John. Not like last time.

John suddenly felt strong hands wrap around his throat. He twisted himself out of the grip, enough to be able to see his attacker. It was Sam, but his eyes chilled John to the bone. His eyes were black. John felt the flow of air stop and begin to burn as Sam choked him. He struggled to get free but it was to no avail. His sight began to blur. He dimly saw some figures burst through the trees, the leading figure familiar.

“Sherlock?”

His world went black.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me or just hang at http://yeditsaj.tumblr.com/

Chapter fifteen:

“And then I woke up. I don’t remember anything else.”

John looked at his enraptured audience. He was a little ashamed at his lack of hesitation. He should have known it wasn’t real. But he could see no judgement on their faces. He was reminded that he wasn’t the only one who had faced his fear today and he felt even closer to those around him. As his eyes surveyed the group, they rested on Castiel, who nodded reassuringly. John’s mouth tweaked into a small smile in return. Feeling a little too out into the open, he changed the subject and faced Sam.

“What about you?”

Sam’s eyes darkened at the memory of his fear. He, too, sought judgement or condemnation from the men in front of him – Dean next to him, the Doctor occasionally pacing, Castiel still as ever, and John and Sherlock opposite – but also could find none. These were men who knew the power of fear. But even if they didn’t reserve any judgement for him now, Sam wasn’t sure that this would be the case once they knew. He took a deep breath and began to confess.

“It started a lot like John’s. We went to get wood and I lost sight of him and assumed that he had returned. It never occurred to me any different, until I couldn’t find my way back…

 

Sam stumbled over a tree root sticking out of the ground. He had been wandering for what felt like ages, but the forest tended to do that: warp time around you. He had tried to find the group, and he knew they were here somewhere, but he couldn’t find them. This fact daunted him. They had to be close! His hearing, sharpened by the continual silence, easily picked out the faint rustling behind him. He dropped his firewood and twisted around.

A small tearful face shone up at him.

Sam relaxed himself into a friendly stance and knelt down to the child’s eye height. He smoothed his voice and spoke in placating tones to seem as unfrightening as possible. “Hey, there. Are you ok? I’m Sam. What’s your name?”

The child looked up at him through teary eyes.

“I’m Alwatika.” They shuffled closer to Sam. “Are you here to save my Mummy?”

“Why? What’s wrong? What’s happened to your Mummy?”

“He has her.”

Concern ran through Sam as alarm bells rang. How could he know it wasn’t a trap? They had seen no one else through their journey, nor seen anything that hinted at human or alien occupation. In saying that, an inner voice added, this is a very large forest. And look at the darkness around you. Anything could be missed! He agreed with this statement, but he couldn’t ignore his instincts. He had met murderous children before, whether they had gotten there by choice or possession. They were the epitome of innocence, that was, until they were the ones standing over you covered in your blood. He literally lives a life where he can trust absolutely no one. But even if this was a killer child, they still needed his help, the inner voice spoke up again. Anyone could become their next victim, and it was on him to end this. Sam sighed and let it go, convinced that his own consciousness was trying to kill him.

“Where is ‘he’?”

The child pointed into the darkness. Sam stood up, held onto Alwatika’s hand, and started forward. The light from his torch fell on the twisted tree limbs as they passed by. He began to feel more and more uneasy. He had no idea where they were going or what was going to meet them there, and he felt for the calming weight of his gun at his hip. Alwatika paused.

“He’s found us.”

Sam searched the darkness and could dimly make out a figure in the shadows. The darkness seemed to huddle around the figure’s feet as they reared out of the fog. The figure didn’t move an inch, yet Sam’s entire attention was drawn to them. He looked around the still figure for another form that could be the mother, but there were none. Alwatika grabbed Sam’s hand in fear, hiding behind him for protection. Sam tensed and pulled out his gun. He waited for his opposition to move. He heard Alwatika whimper behind him, begging him to shoot him. Sam could even feel them shaking. But he refused to fire without provocation.

“Where is this child’s mother?”

The figure’s voice was low and commanding, tainted with hatred and satisfaction.

“That devil has no mother. Not anymore.”

Alwatika gasped in horror at the words. Rage bubbled in Sam’s chest. “What have you done to her?!”

“I have done nothing.”

“And now you want the child?! What do you plan to do with them?!”

“To get rid of them.”

Sam lifted his arms and felt his fingers squeeze the trigger. He would not allow this man to hurt Alwatika. He saw himself in them, a child lost with a mother forcibly taken from their life.

As the bullet tore at the air, Sam’s eyes went wide as the figure ignored the bullets and stepped into the light.

Azazel was standing in front of him.

He felt the grief of his mother and Jess. A roar resounded in his ears and he fired bullet after bullet into the body in front of him. Sam lowered his arm as the body hung limply in the air. Confused, he strode forward until he could see the man’s face clearly, and halted in shock.

There, tied to a wooden pole and looking at him lifelessly, was Dean.

Sam couldn’t breathe. The torch beam reflected off the blood oozing from his brother’s body. The bullets were straight and true, hitting the head, the chest and one had ripped through his throat. The torch and gun fell from his grasp as Sam collapsed. Self-hate and horror flooded through him. He clenched his fists and beat them against his head. Tears fell down his cheeks in waves. Sobs racked his body as he reached out a hand but couldn’t bring himself to touch the man who was more of a father to him than a brother. He cursed himself.

A soft footstep sounded behind him.

“Thank you, Sam. You have been truly helpful. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

Sam cocked his head to the side as he gasped, “What?”

“I knew you Winchesters were too strong for me, especially together, so I had to get rid of one of you somehow. I reached your brother first. He wasn’t too happy to see me, but I convinced him that this was the best way. I had two cards in my pocket, one of which was the death of his companions. They didn’t take very long. The other was the death of you, ‘Sammy’.”

“Me? But you didn’t kill me.”

“I didn’t need to. You boys are so predictable: you have one and you’ve got the other. I didn’t have to go beyond the threat of your death. In all honesty, I didn’t expect you to shoot him that quickly. It only shows who you really are, Sam: a killing machine.”

“Who are you?” Sam choked out, still in front of Dean’s corpse.

“You don’t know?” Alwatika’s eyes grew pale, turning the whole eye milky white. Sam froze shocked as a name hissed from his clenched teeth.

“Lilith.”

Alwatika began to transform in front of him into a young woman, her blonde hair fell in soft curls down her back and her blue eyes looked up at Sam through long eyelashes. She smirked at him malevolently. “Hello Sam. Good to see you again. I knew it was only a matter of time before I had you.”

Sam shook with supressed anger. All the grief from Dean’s death had turned to rage. His stomach clenched, his heart thumped in its bony cage, and blood clouded his sight. He leapt at her, unable to contain his anger and hatred any longer. A cry tore at his throat as he fought Lilith to the ground. He hit her wherever he could reach, all reason gone from his mind. His hands caught her throat and he lifted her up against a tree, his face inches away from hers. Sam had turned entirely over to instinct.

“See, Sam. This is who you are. You’ve always known this. Welcome to the dark side.”

Sam leant forward and placed his mouth on Lilith’s neck. As her body grew weak, Sam grew stronger and stronger until her skin was translucent and cold. He panted as he dropped her to the ground. He felt invincible, a pinnacle of strength. As he gazed down at her empty eyes, he realised with a happy start that he had enjoyed himself. Revenge had never tasted so sweet. He remembered her fear. He reheard her voice cracking. He grew warm with satisfaction as he felt traces of her frantic efforts to escape across his skin. Sam had never felt so alive! His heart thumped like never before, and his smile practically took over his face. He saw the world with new eyes. Now he could see life in everything. Life that he could snuff out with one flick of his finger. The knowledge of this newfound power flooded into his being and he gazed about him in omniscient supremacy. Finally, he was who he was born to be.

His gaze paused on Dean’s face, and for one second Sam returned. Emptiness clawed back at him where there was satisfaction. He wanted to scream in pain. He wanted to rip Dean’s soul out of purgatory and stuff it back into him. He wanted to see his brother smile, to hear his laugh, to feel his confidence and assurance. For just one last time, he wanted to hear Dean say that he was proud of him. Nothing else mattered to Sam as much as Dean’s approval. Nothing ever did matter as much. Everything he did was to make Dean proud of him. And even in death, Sam knew that his brother wouldn’t judge him, he would lay blame onto his own shoulders. Because looking out for Sam was Dean’s job, and he had died because of it. Because of Sam.

A flame ignited in his gut.

He straightened his back and hardened his heart. Nevermore will he stand back and be the victim of destiny, of the ‘gods’ who played a game of pain. Demons and angels alike, each and every one of them he would find and kill. No longer would they rule his fate! No more will they interrupt his life! They will pay for what they have done. They will scream out in agony! They will beg for his mercy, for him to kill them, by the time he had found them. But death would not come so easily. He will break them until there is nothing left, nothing for them to hold onto except for the eternal abyss of death, which he would grant eventually. They will know fear and anguish in this lifetime. And Sam was only too happy to oblige.

He lurked in the shadows. He didn’t need any light to see anymore; the darkness was his friend. It welcomed him and covered him in its protective shell. He could hear a faint beat through the trees. _A heartbeat_. Throbbing into his ears and though his spine, Sam savoured the sound before prowling towards it. There, only a few steps away, stood a man with his back to Sam. A growl purred under Sam’s breath as he recognised the shape of wings beneath his trench coat. He crouched and as the man tensed, he pounced.

He went straight for the throat. He did not want to kill them – no that would be too short of a death – but rather to weaken them. He knew their strength and wanted to play with them at his leisure, not fight them. Anything could go wrong in a fight. He might accidently kill them. Far better to incapacitate them temporarily and then have all the time in the world to make them suffer. After all, he wanted to savour their pain –

Sam’s world was suddenly disrupted by a charging figure in a jumper.

 


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter sixteen:

“I think you know the rest.”

Sam felt the group go silent. He stared at his hands and fiddled absently. The disgust was bound to overwhelm them soon. He had almost killed them, for goodness sake! He wasn’t proud of it. He wished it had never happened! But in the end he had fallen so quickly and easily he hadn’t even thought it through. Maybe Lilith was right and this was who he was meant to be, who he was born as. His voice lowered to a whisper. “I can understand if you want to leave me here.”

“We’re not leaving you behind, Sam.”

“I agree with Dean.” The Doctor stopped pacing. “No one is going to leave anyone.”

“But I could kill you! I’ve already tried and almost succeeded. Don’t you want to keep that threat away from you?”

“I would if you were a threat. But I do not think you will try to kill us again, Sam.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know you. That is not who you are. You might think that there is no good delaying the inevitable and that we should just destroy you right now. You are probably thinking that this monster is exactly who you are, who you’re meant to be, and as such nothing will prevent you from going back. But you’re wrong. What you saw was your greatest fear, Sam, the one thing that you cannot abide by. You did not see a dead body as you no longer fear death. You didn’t see anyone suffer because no doubt you are used to that. And except for your brother here, no one is close enough to you for them to use to their advantage. But the death of Dean would not have completed it. You fear yourself. You fear who you are, who you could be. You fear what you could become and what you could do. You fear being the one who destroys everything closest to you, of being the last one standing, because of what you did, of the choices you made. And I can confidently look at you, Sam, and know that you are not that person. Because I know those type of people and you are not one of them. Believe me, Sam. You are not who you think you should be. You are not that man. If you were, you wouldn’t be ashamed. You wouldn’t be afraid. You wouldn’t have stopped.”

Sam sat silent in the face of the Doctor’s confidence. How could he know? How could he be so sure? Leaving Sam here was the most logical and safest thing to do. But here the Doctor stood – here they all stood – trusting in Sam. They weren’t judging or condemning him, he only felt their confidence and trust. Sam and the Doctor locked eyes, nodded at each other, and went back to either pacing or sitting nonchalantly. Sensing the time was right, Sherlock addressed the Doctor.

“Doctor, I think this has gone on long enough. You seem to understand more than us about what’s happening. What do we do?”

“I’m not entirely sure. I was thinking of finding it and trying to convince it to let us go.”

“Not much help if we can’t see it, Doctor.”

“Quite right, Cas. Are you sure you can’t sense anyone?”

“I can sometimes sense a thousand minds. Powerful minds. It is not there for long, but it is there.”

“A thousand minds?! Wouldn’t we see them, Doc?”

“Not necessarily, Dean.”

“There’s more, Doctor. The most powerful entities are dormant. The other minds I can sense, but I cannot sense anything behind them. It is like they are the minds of empty bodies.”

“Zombies?”

“Don’t be stupid, John. Zombies don’t exist.”

“Careful what you say, Cheekbones. Zombies do exist. And it is their minds that are empty, not their bodies.”

“There is no scientific evidence to support the existence of zombies.”

“There is no scientific evidence to explain how you got here, either.” Sherlock glared at Sam in infuriated silence, unable to provide a comeback. The Doctor took advantage of Sherlock’s silence.

“What we need is information. What do we already know? It’s telepathic or something along those lines.”

“It’s mischievous; it enjoys playing with its ‘food’ and making us suffer as much as possible. It likes the dark and hates you. And likes triangles.”

The Doctor hesitated as he thought this one through. “Triangles?”

Dean glanced around the group before answering. “Yeah, triangles. They’re everywhere. Just look at a tree, they all have one.” The Doctor accepted this and moved on. “Anything else?”

“It’s incredibly powerful and can interfere with teleportation, other telepathic creatures and your screwdriver. Also able to also transport people from different times and places.”

“Dean, stop making them sound like gods.” The Doctor froze at those words. The group’s arguments sounded distant in his ears.

Gods. Mischievous gods, able to telepathically connect with their victims upon transporting them from anywhere to where they wanted. It all made sense to him now – the message for help, the interruption of Castiel’s teleportation and the ease which John and Sherlock came here, the power of their telepathic abilities, the visibility of their fears but the invisibility of the maker – it all linked back to one being. The Doctor turned back to the group as Sherlock was talking.

“You’re missing the main point: there is only one. The willingness to play with us means boredom; the hesitation to kill means loneliness; and the lack of inhabitants for such a large planet means that it used to accommodate a much larger population than it does now. It’s probably the last of its kind. No eggs, no nest; there is nothing.”

“But Cas said ‘a thousand minds’.”

“He also said ‘dormant’. It is quite possible that the species is in hibernation or something and only one is left active.”

“I think I know what it is.”

The Doctor was met with a barrage of questions. He held out his hand for silence, took a breath and smiled at them before turning around and shouting into the air.

“COME ON, THEN! SHOW YOURSELVES! I KNOW YOU’RE OUT THERE; YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM ME! YOU KNOW WHAT’S HAPPENED BEFORE! COME ON! DON’T MAKE ME HAVE TO GET YOU!”

The silence afterwards screamed in anticipation. The group held their breath. The Doctor prepared himself to shout again when a _snap_ echoed in the darkness. The group – with the exception of the Doctor – acted as one and huddled defensively. Figures rose out of the fog, shifting slightly in the flickering light of the fire. John’s breath caught in his throat as he saw a dozen faces that seemed to be beyond time itself. Not one line or crease, not a single sign of age, could be seen on their perfect features. They were the closest being to a god that John could think of. Human, but somehow beyond human.

“What are they, Doc?”

“Eternals, Dean. Eternal, celestial parasites. It has been an age since we last crossed paths, I had almost forgotten about them. So is that why you’ve brought us here?!” He shouted at them. “The same reason we came last time?!”

“Doctor, would you care to explain? None of this makes any sense!”

“Oh, yes, right, sorry John. Meet the Eternals. Transcendental beings, or beings made out of time with no physical existence or time subjectivity, with amazing powers, as is the norm of such an entity, but with an unparalleled desire for amusement. They do not exist in time, and therefore not subject to it. They are able to teleport people from any time and place to where they want them to be, which they often do to curb their boredom.”

“Boredom?”

“Yes, boredom. They cannot begin and they cannot end, that is time based. They live on for eternity, what they call ‘the endless waste’. They feed on our minds, our, as they call us, Ephemeral minds, as theirs are empty, completely used up. They need ideas from us. They cannot create without thoughts, without us. They use living minds as a diversion. Which explains your fears. They are powerful telepathic creatures and they could easily read your minds. They can make anything you think into a reality. But they couldn’t make the fears without us thinking about them and therefore creating them.”

“I didn’t think about my fear.”

“Didn’t you, Sherlock? Not when you were teleported here, neither when you were faced with the darkness, nor when you were taken away from John? Did none of these times make you think, even in passing, of your worst fear?”

“We weren’t even close, Doc. How could they read us? We didn’t even see them.”

“No need. Your own fear gave it to them. Adrenaline is the most effective energy boost after all. Your fears strengthened the connection, eliminating the need to be close.” The figures had stopped on the fringe of the light’s glow. All eyes were plastered onto the Eternal’s faces, awaiting the next move. The fog grew denser around them.

“Doc, do you think they are a danger to us?”

“They can be. Very competitive people, never try to race them or gamble with them. You’ll regret it.”

“Why aren’t they moving?”

The Doctor’s brow creased in confusion. “I don’t know.”

Sherlock thought back over everything he knew. He relived his first moments here, the conversation with the Winchesters, then the beginning of the fears. He felt like there was something missing, something he couldn’t quite place a hand on. Darkness? No. Teleportation? Not that either. Mischievousness? No. Telepathic? No! The want to kill? NO! Wait, maybe.

“How much do they hate you, Doctor?”

“I wouldn’t say a lot. Not as much as other species.”

“Did they want to kill you?”

“No. Well, a little, but that was out of the competitiveness. We were in a spaceship race, you see, and –”

Sherlock tuned the Doctor out as he grew more and more uncertain. Why would they bring the Doctor here if they had shown no intention of hurting him? He was sure they had brought him here for vengeance, hence why they attacked and then left them to pursue the Doctor. Something wasn’t right. Something was missing! What was it, what was it, what was it –

He froze as the memory of a triangle clouded his vision: the blood-soaked threads of John’s jumper in his palm during his fear. The triangles on the trees in Dean’s fear, the trio of faces in Castiel’s fear, the triangular placement of the group in John’s fear. Every fear had a triangle in it. He dashed to a tree and searched for a triangle near its roots. He came up with nothing. He faced the Doctor, urgency pouring out of him.

“Triangles.”

“What?”

“Triangles! Do these Eternals have anything to do with triangles?!”

“Not that I am aware of.”

Another piece clicked into place as he remembered the previous conversation with Castiel. “And their minds? Are there thousands of them?”

“No, why? Sherlock, what’s wrong? What are you picking up?”

“Is there a being out there that is a stronger telepathic creature than these?”

“None that I know of.”

“Then what about a… a-a telekinetic being? A being that can control the actions of another, one that can use another’s powers for their own desire. Are there any powerful entities that hate you that can do that?”

The Doctor stared at Sherlock as a name drifted into his mind. An ancient enemy that went way back, back to his early days, even before the Eternals. One whose hate of him knew no bounds. He was aware of Sherlock’s anxiousness and wanted to calm him, but he couldn’t. Not if the beings he thought were behind this were here. He could have persuaded the Eternals, talked them over, reasoned with them. Not so for this enemy. The importance of the triangles finally made sense. They always did have a thing for pyramids.

He turned to the group.

“I’m so sorry, but I have been blind. I should have gotten us off this planet when we had the chance.”

“Doc?”

“These are Eternals. There is no doubt about it. But something else is powering them. Castiel, you mentioned their dormancy, and you couldn’t be more right. Another being is controlling them, a being whose hate for me goes beyond time and space.”

“Who is it, Doctor?”

“They call themselves ‘The Great Intelligence’.”

 


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter seventeen:

A low chuckle echoed in their ears. As one, hands dropped to pockets and fingers twitched towards weapons. Subconsciously, they awaited Dean’s call. His eyes darted across the blackened wall of trees. Finally he was in his zone. Suspicious noises in the dark and armed with only a gun? It was just another day for him. The only difference being, the chuckle had no source. He could not place where it came from. It was all around him while at the same time it was only in his head. The chuckle gained in strength as it sensed his confusion. He decided to turn to a higher power.

“Doc. Care to explain?...Doc?”

Dean turned to the Doctor to see him standing still, eyes staring into space. “Doctor!” He reached out and shook him by the arm. The Doctor looked at him and before he could rearrange his expression into his usual ‘Doctor look ’, Dean saw a mixture of fear and uncertainty written in every line and crevice of the Doctor’s face. It was then that Dean realised how much he relied on the Doctor’s calmness, the knowledge that he could face anything that came up against them. The realisation of the Doctor’s fear shocked Dean into silence as the Doctor took over.

“The Great Intelligence, or The Intelligence as they call themselves, is a parasite. Made up of thousands of minds, they have no physical body, relying on others’ if they want one.”

“Minds?”

“Yes, Sherlock; minds, thoughts, forms of consciousness. They create havoc wherever they go. Many times our paths have crossed and many times I have been able to stop them.”

“Good, so we can just do the same thing again.”

“Not quite, Sam. Things are never that easy. They have the power of the Eternals now, remember? Their own power has been multiplied.” The Doctor released a shuddering breath. “I don’t know what to do.”

John turned to Dean, who returned a worried glance. He decided to take over. “What are we up against, Doctor?”

“They’re a transdimentional, telekinetic, metaphysical being! They grow on the minds of those around them! Add that to the powers of the Eternals and what do you have?” The chuckle resounded once more. “A very difficult situation,” he whispered.

“Hello, Doctor.” The voice boomed around them. “Glad you could come and join us.”

“What do you want?”

“What we’ve always wanted: existence. The very thing we’ve hungered over for millennia, the one wish we’ve sought to have, is the very thing that you repeatedly deprive us of.”

“And once you get it you’ll rid the universe of all those you consider to be inferior to you. Nothing would be left!”

“It is only proper, Doctor.” The voice answered in its deep, disembodied monotone. “For too long the universe has been inhabited by the lowlife of the cosmos. We have seen what the universe has become. We know what rubbish has invaded our perfect ether since the destruction of the universe we called home. Could you blame us for cleansing out the trash that unfortunately makes up this place? We would make it fit for the residence of the Great Old Ones once more.”

“I cannot allow you to do that.”

“We know, Doctor. Which is why we plan to start with you.”

The Doctor clutched at his head and cried out in pain. His head constricted and he could feel his jaw shudder. Patterns flashed across his eyes and a static fuzz blocked his hearing. His knees buckled beneath him. Everything was in pain! He could feel his senses fading and his mind began to blacken as his skull creaked. He reached out and tried to protect himself, but it was hopeless. One by one his senses left him. His two hearts stuttered. His lungs were screeching with the effort. He turned to the darkness in his mind, ready to accept it. He reached out to it when suddenly the constriction was gone. Air poured in, blood rushed about, and relief shocked his body into blackness.

When he awoke, he saw John’s face, set in concern, leaning over him. He was lying on the ground on his side, his head supported by John’s folded jumper. He heard John breathe a sigh. He rolled slightly and struggled to his feet, aided by John’s helping shoulder.

“What happened? Why did they stop?”

“Sam and Sherlock, with Dean’s help, convinced them to stop.” John felt the Doctor slump with relief. “Don’t get too relaxed. They haven’t let us go; all they achieved was to give us a little more time”

“How?”

“By giving them an offer they can’t refuse: torture all of us and make you watch. Far more painful way to die, you see, as well as being more fun for them to watch.” The Doctor looked down at John in shock before looking at the others in alarm.

“Why would they be so stupid as to do that?!”

“Because, Doctor, we would all prefer that than what we just had to watch. We couldn’t let you suffer like that. Not if we could do something to help.”

The Doctor realised with a start that John genuinely believed this. They all did. His eyes roamed the faces of the people willing to sacrifice themselves for him. Too often he sacrificed himself for others that he had forgotten what it felt like to be loved that much in return. He felt so honoured but at the same time an overwhelming fear threatened to drown him. He did not want to see these men die for his sake. He did not want another death added to his name.  He was about to shout out to them, to try and shake them off this course they had laid for themselves, when the world went black. As soon as it descended, he knew it was of the mind. He knew darkness – oh! how he knew it – and this was not the usual absence of light darkness. It was too dark for that. He could hear shouting around him.

“Dean?! Dean, can you hear me?!”

“Sam, is that – OW! SONNOVA– ”

“JOHN?! JOHN, WHERE ARE YOU?!”

“I’m fine, Sherlock! Has anyone seen the Doctor?! I could have sworn he was next to me!”

“Dean?”

“CAS?! DON’T STAND SO STILL, DAMMIT!”

“You’re not John.”

“You’re not Dean.”

 “Maybe we should all stay still and go from there!”

As the Doctor followed the sound of John trying to organise everyone into some sort of group, a small tendril of thought entered into the back of his mind. It was not much, but he was instantly on guard.

_Doctor,_ it called. _Help us._

The Doctor froze at this. He could still hear everyone around him, but as if from a long distance.

     Who are you? He thought.

_I am known by many names, but you will know me as the Mariner._

     Ah, yes. I remember you. You had the infatuation with Tegan, didn’t you?

_I admit I did have a fascination in her. She was unlike any other Ephemeral I have met. She was the only one who was able to resist us and keep us out of her mind. Even you struggled to do that. Do you blame my interest, Doctor?_

     Let’s just say, the quicker we release you the better. How did you get like this?

_We were bored, Doctor, and so decided to engage in another one of our races. As we collected our crews we accidently picked up the creature. As you know, Doctor, we transport conscious, not physical, beings. We could not see them and so we did not know. Then it began to take us over. We began doing things we would never do, said things we would never say. We even attacked our fellow Eternals! Most of us were able to get away, but we are the few that couldn’t. Save us, Doctor! We never wished for this to happen._

     Still up to your old tricks then. Glad I had such an influence. I will do my best, but your powers are now Theirs…

The Mariner could feel the Doctor’s growing alarm. He hastened to reassure him.

_Calm down, Doctor. I have a small amount of freedom, and as such I can block this conversation from Them, but it drains me in ways I know not._

     Where are they now?

_We cannot see Them, even though we are attached to Them. They have not possessed any of us as of yet, although that could be because we are not entirely physical beings ourselves._

The Doctor thought quickly, hearing the faint voices of his friends raised in anger and frustration, before screaming mentally at Castiel.

      CASTIEL?! CAN YOU HEAR ME?!

“No need to shout, Doctor, I can hear you.” The Doctor jumped slightly as the voice appeared beside him.

     Alright Castiel. Did you hear any of our previous conversation?

“The one in your head, yes.”

     Good. Mariner, can you hear me? Can you connect everyone’s consciousness?

_No, Doctor, I cannot. That would require more freedom of mind than I and everyone else has at this moment._

     We have no choice then. I have to face Them.

“You’re running a very large risk, Doctor.”

     Sometimes you’ve got to take these risks.

The Doctor stepped forward and searched for John’s shoulder. It took a few swipes through the air but he eventually found it before turning and addressing Them. “Hey! Great Intelligence! I know you want to torture and kill us all, and I’m not going to argue with you, but first let me ask you something: why not me?” The Doctor could almost feel Their confusion and smiled as he heard John give a little gasp. He took another step into the middle of the circle.

“Why not show me my fear?”

 


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter eighteen:

The darkness lifted, illuminating the forest once more in the flickering light from the fire. A half smile played at the corner of the Doctor’s mouth and his eyes twinkled. He knew They couldn’t resist this – a chance to show off and possibly ruin him in the process. They were too prideful for that. He knew the Great Intelligence would want to rub in their victory before ending him. Sometimes Their pride made them too predictable.

“You want _us_ …” the low voice began, drinking in the moment. “… to show _you_ your fear?”

“Yes! Come on, we all know you want to! So why haven’t you?”

A low rumble that could be passed as a chuckle echoed around the clearing. “You think we do not know it; that we have no knowledge, no fear, to prey on. Your mind is closely guarded, Doctor. It has been a struggle to get in. But we know you well, well enough not to waste time with your games. However, you are right to a certain extent: we cannot show you your fear.”

A crease formed between the Doctor’s brows and his eyes darted across the clearing. His gaze fell on Sam and Dean with their hands on their guns. He angrily gestured for the guns to be dropped, but Dean just stood there impassively. John stood in between them while Sherlock had his fingers pressed against his temple and Castiel stood beside one of the Eternals, which the Doctor assumed was the Mariner. Castiel’s face was etched in fierce confusion, and the Mariner’s questioning thoughts faintly intruded on the Doctor’s thoughts. He knew what They wanted and what They wanted him to say. Seeing no other option, he turned back.

“Why not?”

He could hear the smirk in Their voice. “Tell us, Doctor, what was your biggest fear? You have never feared death, sometimes you have even begged for it, but the death of your companions always troubled you. You never feared the Time Lords, only their destruction on others. Even against the countless opponents you have faced, you have never feared them. Neither have you feared time, hate, darkness, or the monsters from the deep.” The Doctor’s head slowly and subconsciously followed the ever flowing voice. Their words didn’t calm him and he could feel the adrenaline begin to flow through him. “But… there is one thing you have kept hidden. One fear that you tremble at the thought of. Every action you do, every word you say, tries to steer you away from it, to leave it all behind. But Doctor, you have been running the wrong way. It is here. It has always been here. Do you remember this place, Doctor?”

The Doctor grew cautious at the sudden change of topic. He tried to think of any reason why he would remember this death-like planet, if that’s what it was. He rummaged through his head for any defined landmarks, but all he could see were the trees and fog. There was nothing he could remember. It wasn’t earth at any period of time, and he knew he wasn’t on any hostile planet he’d been to as he usually remembered them. And the TARDIS didn’t recognise the coordinates. He was sure he had never been here.

His mouth opened to say so when a glimmer caught his eye. He crept forward. The glimmer got stronger as he reached the base of a tree, his arm reaching up and grabbing it. He slowly brought it to eye level and opened his grasp. There, slightly crumpled from his hand, lay a single silver leaf. His eyes widened and his mouth came open with a little pop. He fell to the ground, anxiously searching the ground before finding one faded red blade of grass. The chuckle reverberated once more.

“Remember it now, Doctor?”

“H-How… how…”

_Doctor?_

“You are not the only one outside of time, Doctor. We know it is a little bit dead, but that’s what happens when… well, you know, when you’re around.”

“There was no other way.”

“Wasn’t there?” The voice rang about in his head, blow after blow attacking his confidence. Images of past worlds haunted him. Dead faces flashed before him and the echoes of screams assaulted him. He grabbed his head and screamed out.

“STOP! STOP IT! ENOUGH!”

The sudden silence temporarily deafened him.

“Stop? But Doctor, you should be thanking us. After all, we did bring you home.”

The Doctor heard Sherlock’s confused and slightly suspicious “Home?” but ignored it. “Thanking you? You know exactly what you have done. You deserve no thanks.”

“Don’t we? Then perhaps we should… _liven_ things up a bit.”

The Doctor shielded his eyes from the sudden burst of colour. The forest was hardly recognisable. The trees rose strong, bearing hundreds of small silver leaves bending in the breeze. The sky was filled with amber light from the second sun rising in the south, setting the forest on fire with its light. Rising high above the tree tops peaked the mountains, their rocky formations covered with shimmering red-gold rocks and glistening white snow. Bird calls filled the silence. He could smell the ground beneath him. It wasn’t a dirty smell like earth’s, but rather a sweeter aroma that lingered on the tongue playfully. He had forgotten this. He had forgotten how the trees creaked ever so slightly when the breeze hit them and how the second sun could be chased across the planet. He tried to find the birds and name them, just as he used to do as a child. The years of pain and regret drifted off him. He was on Gallifrey.

He was home.

The peace was broken by a whirling noise above him. A shadow blocked out the sun and the Doctor flung himself to the ground as something flew by where he stood. Confused, he lifted his head after it and then immediately wished he didn’t. There was a reason why there was a large clearing in the middle of the woods. There was a reason why he didn’t recognise it.

He was looking at Arcadia. And it was the last day of the Time War.

Another Dalek swooped down upon him and he rolled behind a tree. The cry of EXTERMINATE could be heard floating on the wind, growing closer with every breath. The Doctor felt a coolness creep through him and he looked up to see thousands of Dalek spaceships blocking out the sun, spewing millions of Daleks upon the strongest Gallifreyan fort. It was the last one they had left, he knew. It once reared proud and glorious against the land, its beauty and strength praised by everyone, but now having stood against so many foes for so long, there was hardly anything left. Only the Citadel was intact, but many of its outer defences were destroyed. Its quantum force field yet to shatter completely under the sieges, the Gallifreyan people still had hope. But the Doctor had none. There was no option, no future, where Gallifrey could survive. He had tried to tell the Council this before, but they wouldn’t listen. They never did.

Screams began to travel back to him as the first assault from the Daleks began. It was a brutal attack that would destroy them. He tried to tell himself that it was a memory, that it was nothing more than the Great Intelligence playing with his mind, but he couldn’t help it. He was the Doctor. He made a promise. He grasped his sonic screwdriver to his side and leapt forward into the city.

No matter how many times he reviewed his memories, he never got over the destruction that faced him now. The carnage made in the Dalek’s wake tore at him like the first time. Buildings were brought to the ground. Boulders of stone blocked pathways and left crevices underneath them. Uncontrolled fires from lasers and abandoned houses burned everything around them. Fallen Daleks and Gallifreyan soldiers peaked out from the ruins; some had fallen partly in the fires and now smoked incessantly. The Doctor kept rushing through the battle zone until he had reached the cover of a crumpled fallen Dalek, where he stopped to catch his breath. The thick smoke reached down his throat and into his lungs, threatening to choke him. He knew he was on the edge of the battle front and as such had a lot of space to cover before reaching those who needed him the most in the Citadel. Maybe he could even convince the Council. Steeling himself, he charged ahead.

Most of the roads had been blocked by falling debris, but the Doctor found ways to tread through the maze of ruins. Sometimes ducking for cover as a troop of Daleks flew past, he was able to sneak through their cover and into the very front of the battle at the base of the Citadel’s trenches. While most of the heavy fighting was at the top inside the Citadel itself, there was still a pocket of rebellion on the ground. In order to get through, he would have to run along the walkways above the trenches. The Gallifreyan army was able to demolish most of them before finding out that the Daleks could fly and the rest were heavily defended. To get there, he would be out in the open. He would be out in the open for a considerable amount of time, caught in between two raging armies of Daleks and Time Lords. He did not like the look of things.

The heightened volume of EXTERMINATEs made him look behind the gigantic fallen gargoyle that he was using as cover. The Daleks had breached the main walkway! He clutched his head as a memory rushed into his mind. He remembered this. He was looking down from the Citadel walls when – yes! There he was! It wasn’t much – he hadn’t hung around for very long – but it was enough. He knew how it would go from now on. He would leave a message for both Daleks and Time Lords, climb into the TARDIS and leave. It would be the last time he would ever see his homeland again. Dalek after Dalek poured into the Citadel. It would soon be gone. Unless…

He charged to a hollowed out Dalek and quickly clambered inside. It must have been hit by one of the lasers the Citadel kept on the battlements, according to the smoke from the small electrical fires burning in the metallic shell. It crept up his nose and burned his airways but he pushed forward, slightly scraping the bottom against the stone. Sharp edges sliced his hands and legs, but he continued on. Slowly he followed the line of Daleks into the Citadel, careful not to run into anything and to shout EXTERMINATE as well as he could as often as he could. Corridors and rooms sprouted out from the main entranceway. He could hear the Daleks shooting and screaming EXTERMINATE down there, but he could not turn. The crowd of Daleks forced him along.

The massive keystone archway loomed above him. It was the entrance into the Citadel. Fallen paintings and sculptures decorated the destroyed inner chamber. The Doctor had to give it to them: when it came to destruction there was no one better than the Daleks. Nothing was left standing. Even the Gallifreyan engravings that adorned the ceiling were blasted from sight. The Daleks didn’t want to destroy Gallifrey. They wanted it to have never existed. For this to happen, not one Gallifreyan symbol had to survive. Countless artefacts were broken and strewn across the floor. Windows were shattered and anything that could be pulverised, were. The amber sky had turned a deep blood orange as the sun rose, drenching the Citadel with its light. Its reflection bounced off shards of glass, dripping the walls in red, and blinded the Doctor as he made his way into a corner to climb out of the Dalek shell. He waited until he couldn’t see anyone before shimmying out of the temporary prison.

Cleaner air filled his lungs as he ran. A passer-by might have thought he was lost, but it was impossible for him to be. He was looking; searching for Gallifreyan civilians and soldiers alike. As he entered one of the holding rooms a smash from below caused him to run to the edge of the stairwell. The Daleks had shot down another wall, but this time there were people behind it. Scared and confused, the people ran in front of them. The Daleks were ruthless. Shots fired among them, never deviating from their target. One little girl was pulling at her dead mother’s arm, screaming at her to get up, before another shot felled her. Brothers carried brothers, mothers shielded children, daughters helped pull along the elderly. Some children under the age of ten threw anything they could get their hands on at the Daleks before being targeted. He tried to reach them but he couldn’t. Too many Daleks barred his way. He choked down a shout and turned back to the room.

Scared faces shone red back at him as the sun light entered behind him. They were all children. The oldest wouldn’t have been eleven. Such trust shone from their eyes that it tore at his heart. He wanted to warn them of what would come, but he couldn’t. Hope was such a valuable thing that to wipe it out now would have broken even the heartless of men. Slowly, he directed them to a higher area of the Citadel even though he knew it was hopeless. They were all going to burn. And by his hand. Gradually he made his way through the Citadel like this; searching through rooms and directing them away from the Dalek attacks. He had just finished moving a group of families when one little girl of about five piped up.

“Sir? When can we go home?”

The innocent question stabbed at him. Never. Never can you go home. Home won’t exist even if it had managed to survive this long. Everything you know, everything you love, will be gone. Even you won’t survive, he thought to himself as he stared into the girl’s face. Her shocking blue eyes still glowed through the dirt that covered her. Her brown hair fell in waves by her shoulder and he couldn’t stop himself wondering what her future could have been. Maybe she wanted to be a librarian and protect the wealth of knowledge the Time Lords had accumulated. Or perhaps she could have been a general of the army, and brought peace among their enemies. Or perhaps she wanted to be a Doctor. His breathing quickened and his lips tightened. Not trusting himself to speak, he smiled weakly, stroked her hair, and left.

This was what he was about to burn. Billions of innocent people who didn’t deserve to die. Who had nothing to do with the Time War. Who could have had a bright future. Who could have had a life, if it hadn’t been for him. For the first time in his life he realised why the Daleks were afraid of him. Why he was their feared enemy. For as often as he had defeated them, he did not think that was enough to place fear into a nation who knew only hatred. There was more. They feared him because he did what they could never do. The one thing that was abhorrent to a Dalek, the Doctor accomplished.

The Daleks could never destroy one of their own. The Doctor didn’t leave one Time Lord standing. And that made him worse than a Dalek.

He didn’t wait for the eventual burning. He fell to his knees doubled up, clutching his face in his hands. He couldn’t bear it anymore. He couldn’t see what he was about to do, what he had chosen to do. He understood the monster he had become. He had gotten close, very close, to it in the past but had always stopped before the line. People have died because of him. Suffering followed him wherever he went. There was no end to it. Not until there was an end to him. The crackling of a fire sang to him. It was not much, but maybe if he died now the universe would sort itself out. No more hatred. No more wars. No more interfering Time Lords.

No more.

His head swivelled towards the fire next to him. Its hot tongues danced in his eyes and beckoned him closer. His pupils dilated despite the brightness and his hands moved across the sharp stones. Blood trickling from the cuts obtained by the Dalek shell began to merge with the newer cuts on his hands. The heat warmed his face, setting the skin tingling before drying it out. He raised a hand and placed it into the coals.

He sucked in a breath sharply before falling into the fire.

 


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter nineteen:

The world was black.

Everything around the Doctor had faded. The pain from the fire was now a slight throb and the noises of the falling city had gone from his ear. He was grateful for that. The less he could hear of Gallifrey’s destruction the better. He was afraid to open his eyes. What would he see? The same destruction that he had tried to escape from, or maybe the aftermath of the Daleks, now gone on to another part of the citadel? Or, worse still, there would be nothing left to see. That he had pushed the big, red button and had done the unspeakable. Each situation was as bad as the next, and he didn’t know which one he preferred.

_Hello, Doctor._

The voice slithered into his mind. Low and monotonous, the Doctor instantly recognised the sound of the Great Intelligence. He squeezed his eyelids tighter together and let out a little huff.

_No need to be like that, Doctor. We are only here to check on you._

            You control the Eternals. You know exactly how I am.

_Can you see now, Doctor? Do you understand why we cannot show you your fear? You do not fear anything in your future or present life. How could you when the worst thing imaginable has already happened? You fear your past –_

            I am not who I once was.

_Are you sure?_

Image after image of flashed through the Doctor’s consciousness, threatening to overwhelm him. Faces contorted with horror and pain overlapped each other. Places crushed and lying in ruins. He could see his enemies wreak havoc upon the innocent people around them. The Cybermen, Daleks, and The Master alike; all were destroying the world he tried to protect.

_What a pity these creatures still live. You consider your battles against them as victories, but they are not. If they were, then they would all be dead by now. But no, the Doctor is too ‘wise’ for that, too ‘above’ killing them. Too cowardly to finish them off._

            It was mercy.

_AND LOOK WHERE YOUR MERCY GOT THEM!_

Screams deafened him. Faces of pain tried to cling onto him but disappeared as he tried to save them. He felt their fear and knew their agony. His throat prickled and then ached as the pain from his injuries grew.

_It was your mercy in letting them live that sealed their fates. If it wasn’t for you,_ Doctor, _these people wouldn’t have died. It is because of you that such death and destruction has occurred. You have not changed. You show ‘mercy’ to try and make up for Gallifrey. But it is this very weakness that has killed far more than you could ever count. You are the very same monster now as you were in Arcadia. You sport a different face but you are the very same person. And even if you die, Doctor, they will not be safe. They never will be. We will destroy each and every one of them in our hatred of you. They will know of terror and torment like no one has ever seen, and it will be all because of you. Because of your ‘mercy’. And there is nothing you can do to stop us. We will be to them what you were to Gallifrey._

            There was no other way!

_Wasn’t there, Doctor? Was there really no other way?_

The images in his mind slowed and finally stopped on one memory. If it was possible, the Doctor’s hearts would have broken. He was looking into the room full of children, the crimson light from the sun bathing their faces in red. Big, innocent eyes of blue, brown and green held him captivated, their faces, as he remembered them, etched in trust and hope. But while he watched, their expressions changed. Lips curled up in disgust, eyes squinted and brows lowered in anger, and bodies were subconsciously huddled together. The older children gathered the youngest to themselves as they shrank away from him. Another voice from another memory drifted to him; this time belonging to a young woman called Cas whose words were mixed with his own.

_You’re a Time Lord… Don’t touch me… Get away from me…_

_… I’m not a Dalek…_

_… Who can tell the difference anymore… You’re going to die… Best news all day…_

He could hear the screaming getting louder and he felt himself falling; falling through the darkness and back into the flames. The heat raged at his already burnt face and hands, setting them on fire once more. The smoke choked him and striped his lungs dry. His skin was melting and he opened his mouth in a silent cry for help.

“Doctor! Doctor, calm down. Breathe slowly. Don’t move.”

He felt a cool hand touch his forehead. He shielded away from it, but it did not move. The ground beneath his back became hard and cool and the crackling of the fire grew fainter in his ears. His breathing became smoother and his muscles began to relax. He listened closely to the conversation around him.

“He’s calming down now. I think he’ll be fine. He had me worried for a minute. Where are the others, Cas especially? He was the first to reach the Doctor when he fell into the fire, I would have thought that he would’ve hung around.”

“I think he’s still communicating with the Mariner. Double checking to see if everything went alright.”

“And Sherlock and Dean? When I turned around after looking over the Doctor they had gone.”

“Sherlock’s making sure the fire didn’t spread and Dean’s checking to see if all the Eternals are gone. We can’t have stray Eternals left in the Great Intelligence’s service.”

“If the Doctor is better, then they should be. We’re lucky to have Cas. If it wasn’t for him we would still be stuck.”

“And thanks to the quickness of your friend we might’ve still be in danger. I never would have thought of using the fire.”

The Doctor struggled to open his eyes. The fire, now smaller in size, still burned in the middle of the clearing close by, throwing light onto the scene occurring around him. Sam and John were kneeling beside him, relieved smiles on their faces. He looked away. Castiel was standing where the Eternals once stood, his shoes sending fine clouds of ash into the air when he eventually moved towards them. Seeing Castiel move, Sherlock turned around and called out to Dean, who was currently hidden from view. John laid his fingers on the side of the Doctor’s neck to check his pulse but was surprised to see him jerk away. The Doctor’s eyes closed again.

“It’s ok, Doctor. All the Eternals are gone; we burned them. Castiel said that because they were out of time they couldn’t die, only be transferred. They can’t control us now.”

“You should have let me burn.”

Sam’s heart constricted painfully as he watched the hatred consume the sprawled man at his feet. He looks broken, Sam thought. This troubled him. The Doctor was the kind of man who wore the world on his shoulders so effortlessly that it was easy to forget that he did. It was easy to look at him and not even think about his past and all the pain that he must have gone through. It was all too easy to forget that the Doctor was only human. He raised a hand towards him.

“Be careful, Sam. We don’t know how he’ll react.”

Sherlock’s caution surprised Sam as he looked over his shoulder at him. Sherlock’s eyes were cast over in concern and Sam could see Dean move to Sherlock’s shoulder, his hand twitching towards his gun. Sam heard a rustle and watched Castiel and John move to the Doctor, Castiel at his head and John at his feet, ready to hold him down if he began to flail. This left Sam to cover the arms if he flung out. He took a breath and held the Doctor’s hand.

Like a startled animal, the Doctor struck out. Anticipating his moves, Sam grabbed hold of his wrists deftly and secured them to the Doctor’s chest. He glanced down to see the Doctor’s feet pinned and his head stable. His eyes were lit with a wildness and a pain that Sam never expected to come from him. Sam could recognise the same fear and hatred living in the Doctor’s eyes as the ones in his own. Sweat gleamed on his skin and Sam could feel his pulse writhing in his wrists.

“Doctor, calm down, it’s just us. Everyone’s ok.”

The Doctor’s eyes flickered around the group. Their concern and understanding was easy to see, but as much as they thought they understood, they couldn’t. They couldn’t know what it’s like to be the very last of your kind; to become the very monster they detest. None of them had billions of lives on their hands. How could they know about him, about what he had become? They had to understand. They had to get away from him. Every moment with him was only placing them in even more danger. Who could tell what he would do next.

“Leave me.” He could almost feel the tightening of the lips and the setting of the shoulders. “Listen to me: find the TARDIS and go away from here while you still can. The keys are in my pocket. Get inside and she’ll do the rest.”

“Doc–”

“No! Let me die here. Do not give me the chance to kill you too.” The Doctor’s voice became pleading. “Don’t you see? I. Am. A. Monster. A murderer. I have driven races into extinction. I have manipulated others into killing themselves. I am known as the Oncoming Storm, the Bringer of Darkness, the Great Scourge and the Executioner. I have burned my entire world out of existence. I am the last Time Lord because I exterminated all of them.” The group was silent. He tried again. “Sam. Your fear was becoming the monster inside of you. I told you that you were not that man, that I could recognise those men. I knew you were not that because I am. Don’t let me make you that man. Don’t let me add your names to my guilt. Allow me one mercy: let me die. I have so much innocent blood on my hands that to die would be a gift. I did not think that I would survive this long – I had no desire to after I pushed the button – but I have and death has followed me. Please, Sam, make that stop.”

Sam stared at the shell the Doctor had become. Sam was sure that if they let him go now he wouldn’t move. At a slight gesture, John and Castiel released their hold. Sam was right. His eyes had lost their usual spark and his skin was pale and slightly cold to touch. But what captivated Sam were the Doctor’s haunted eyes. He realised with a start that the Doctor was old. Ancient. The things that he would have seen, the life that he had lived. What horrors did he have to endure? Sam couldn’t even imagine. He had seen some nasty things in the hunting business, but this was different. This was centuries of pain and regret building on top of one another coupled with the knowledge that there was no way to change it. How would he have reacted?

“You’re right, Doctor.”

“Sammy–”

“You did tell me that you could recognise them. But you also said something else. You said that if I was who I feared, then I wouldn’t be ashamed. That I wouldn’t have stopped trying to kill everyone. You had confidence in me and I trusted you. Trust me now. Just as you can recognise your own, I know mine. And I know that you’re a good man, Doctor. You only saw your fear, just as I did.”

“But this is not some fear constructed in my mind. This is truth. This is a memory. My fear has already happened. All They did was show me my past.”

“And what did you see?”

“…Home… the day it was destroyed. It was everything I remembered it to be: both in beauty and in destruction. There was nothing I could do. All of Gallifrey had fallen to the Daleks by then and Arcadia was the last fortress standing. We couldn’t keep it up. We had fading supplies, a small amount of strength, and no hope. We had endured enough. The Council had used all but one of our weapons on the Daleks already. The only one left was the most dangerous of all. It had a conscious. It could easily turn on those wielding it but… I had to. The war was destroying the universe and all of time. If it did not stop then it would have abolished everything. So I stole it. When I released the power at my disposal, I was not on Gallifrey. I could not bear it. They showed me what was happening on Gallifrey when I detonated it… 2.47 billion children on that planet, did you know? I killed 2.47 billion kids – innocent individuals who deserved none of it – and their parents.” He sat up, glaring at Sam in front of him. “Don’t you talk to me of fears, of monsters in the dark. You may have killed, but you have never, ever, had to deal with the knowledge that you are the very reason why those kids never had a future. Why it is because of you that you are the only one left standing. I may have had good intentions, but does that really excuse it? Does the end really justify the means? Sam, I am begging you. Let. Me. Be. The world is better off without me. I have killed too many to count.”

A hopeless silence greeted the Doctor’s words. Sam looked over at John before glancing at Sherlock and Dean. All of them greeted his silent plea with the same hopelessness he felt. What could he say? The Doctor was right: he didn’t know. He hadn’t blown up a whole planet. He hasn’t killed billions of kids. He wasn’t the last of his kind. But he couldn’t walk away from him. He couldn’t leave the Doctor.

“What about the people on the spaceship?”

Castiel’s low, gruff voice broke the stillness in the clearing. The Doctor hesitated before turning to look Castiel directly in the eyes. “What spaceship?”

“After you had found John and I and we were looking for Sam and Sherlock, you were telling us about the human-eating cockroach and how you were able to save those people on the spaceship.” He could see John and Dean nod in remembrance. “You later told me of how you fought the Daleks and the Abominable Snowmen, both times your ability to find the problem and fix it saved the lives of many people.”

“Their lives cannot repay back the billions I’ve killed.”

“I bet they don’t think that, Doc. I bet that without you, more would have died than lived. And you know what? That’s a victory.”

“ _Even with eternity before you, you have to keep going: you might save twice as many lives by staying alive_ , remember Doctor? Is not one life saved worth the effort of living for another century?”

“But I am a Doctor! I made a promise! I promised to never be cruel or cowardly, nor to give up or give in. I am meant to be a healer!”

“So am I. As doctors, we cannot be expected to save everyone. Death is a natural occurrence in life. We do our best to save them, but sometimes there is nothing we can do. We just have to push forward and do our best to save the next person who needs our help. Sometimes all that is open to us is to ease their passing. But remember, Doctor, not every healing is a physical healing. In Afghanistan, there were many nights where I stayed up with soldiers who were not expected to live. It was heartbreaking. But in those moments – in their last minutes – I saw wounds healed. Regrets that they needed to tell someone about, assurance of a friend in their life, and even the simple promise of sending a letter could have the most profound impact on them. And something tells me that you’ve done this too.”

“But my promise–”

“ _Never be cruel or cowardly, nor to give up or give in_? Doctor, you are none of these things. To be cruel you must be wilfully causing people to suffer and/or feel no concern about it. While you knowingly caused pain to many people, you prevented endless torment to even more, and it is obvious that you are concerned about it. So, that part of the promise is kept. To be a coward is to lack courage, and you, Doctor, had the most courage out of everyone. It was you who stepped forward and did what no one else could do. _You_ saved the universe. _You_ ended the war. Therefore cowardly is not you. And would it not be fair to say that dying would be classed as ‘giving up’ and ‘giving in’? By living you are refusing to do that. You are refusing to break your promise and to save those who need you the most, those who would have died if you were not around. You have not broken your promise, Doctor.”

The Doctor gazed wordlessly at the men around him. They stayed. They didn’t know what it felt like – no one ever could – but they understood pain and guilt. These were men who had lived with guilt and had found ways to live with it. They didn’t let the regret break them. They didn’t allow their own past to get in the way of their future. As Castiel said, was it not better to save one person than to wallow away in misery for centuries? He knew he would never be able to repay the amount of loss he had caused. But if he stayed, if he lived one more century, how many people would he be able to help? To heal, to save, to change, to be there when others aren’t? Isn’t that what a Doctor is? He held out his hand and Sam grabbed it, pulling him up while being stabilized by Castiel. He was still a little groggy from the fear.

“Home?”

A low chuckle wound through the fog, advancing through the trees and swirling at their feet. Sam gasped and turned to the Doctor.

“I thought They were gone! That They had left with the Eternals!”

“No. You only got rid of Their vessels. They are still very much alive. Help me run.”

“What?”

“RUN!”

With Sam on one side and Castiel on the other, the Doctor trailed the group through the trees towards where he thought the TARDIS was. They ran by the flickering fire torches held by Dean at front and Sherlock just behind them. Navigating was difficult as everything looked the same, but he could always tell where she was. Leaves and branches whipped at their faces and bushes threatened to trip them. The fog grew thicker with every step and the Doctor feared that they would soon lose each other. The chuckle followed them, rising and falling in volume with the fog.

_Run all you want, Doctor, but you cannot hide from us..._

            Watch me.

_Gladly, but you seemed to have forgotten something._

The light from Sherlock’s torch suddenly became faint and he turned around to see Sherlock standing still, swaying a little in the light. They halted and the Doctor got a shiver up his back.

_You have forgotten your inherent weakness._

John was calling to Sherlock, beckoning him forward.

            And what is that?

A sick, twisted grin stole across Sherlock’s face. No longer was he swaying but instead he seemed to rise in height. Something flickered in his eyes, but the Doctor couldn’t place it. John was desperately calling to him now, Dean joining in the plea, but this wasn’t Sherlock. Sherlock was gone.

_Sentiment…_

 


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter twenty:

“Run.” Castiel grabbed Dean’s shoulder and shoved him towards the Doctor. “Get them away.”

“What– ”

“Go!”

“But– ”

“NOW, DEAN!”

Castiel didn’t wait to see if Dean listened. He turned and strode towards Sherlock, stretching his fingers subtly and feeling the friendly weight of the angel blade at his side. He wouldn’t use it, not unless he had to, but the feel of it was nevertheless reassuring. The manic gleam hadn’t left Sherlock’s – no, not Sherlock, the Great Intelligence’s – eyes. Sherlock’s body and demeanour had changed so drastically that at this point in time it was hard to think of him as Sherlock. The sounds of the others making their escape resounded through the tenuous silence around them. Castiel stopped just out of arms reach.

“Let him go.”

A small, mischievous grin crept across the Great Intelligence’s face.

“LEAVE!”

“Why? We have just what we’ve always wanted: to exist. To live as not just a thought, but to have substance. Ideally we would prefer the Eternals, but they are not completely inhabitable for us. They, while powerful and ancient, are not truly physical. You saw yourself how untrustworthy their mortality can be. This body, however, will suit us well until a better option arises.”

“And then what?”

“It will be disposed of. But don’t worry. You’ll be dead long before that happens.”

Castiel ducked as the Great Intelligence’s arm caught his shoulder. He clutched his arm and staggered as he regained his balance. The Great Intelligence’s movements were wild and clumsy but Castiel knew that it wouldn’t last for long. As soon as They had gotten used to Sherlock’s body, more control would come into Their attacks. But he had a more pressing issue. He didn’t know how to get Them out without hurting Sherlock. He could use his powers and try to exorcise Them, but that would be incredibly painful for Sherlock and it could only end in ruin. It always did. It was only a matter of time before his fear would become a reality, and he would do anything he could do to prevent that from happening.

He waited for the next blow before striking towards his opponent’s face. The Great Intelligence jerked backwards, allowing Castiel to deflect Their arms and kick Their feet out from beneath Them. They fell with a thud. Castiel pulled off his tie and grabbed Their hands and feet, tying them together and placing the Great Intelligence in an unmovable position. Castiel watched Them rock back and forth a few times, and as he lent down to pick Them up, the sound of fabric ripping filled the stillness. His head snapped around to his tie to find it in a heap on the ground. The Great Intelligence’s hand shot up and grabbed his throat.

“We cannot be so easily trapped.”

Muscles twitched beneath The Great Intelligence’s fingers and Castiel grimaced. He slapped Their arms but They didn’t let go. He could feel the panic instinctually twist in his diaphragm and his whole body spasmed. He felt like throwing up. He struck out again desperately, but to no avail. They were too strong.

“Sher…lock…”

It came out in a wheeze. He didn’t know why he said it. Logically, it would only be a waste of air but something – some type of instinct – had taken over. He had to reach out to Sherlock, to the man he knew, was still in there. And knowing Sherlock, he would be fighting for control. All Castiel had to do was to give him a little more strength. He carefully watched the eyes above him and rejoiced as a small flicker entered them. The pressure on his throat eased slightly, but enough for Castiel to tell. For a second, Castiel was looking at Sherlock. His dark green-grey eyes turned vulnerable, screaming out a silent plea for help, but it was only for a second before they grew hard again.

Castiel kicked out before They could gain complete control. He felt his heel meet bone and a crunch told him everything he needed to know.

He felt Their fingers release him as Their knee buckled from underneath Them. Gulping down a breath of fresh air, Castiel followed the kick with a punch to the face. He punched again and again, his hand behind Their neck holding Them within reach. Castiel no longer thought about trying to prevent pain coming to Sherlock. For while he had seen that Sherlock was still in there, he had just experienced how little amount of control he had over Them. They could still kill him.

His only thought was survival.

The Great Intelligence batted away Castiel’s hands and head-butted him in the nose. Temporarily blinded by the automatic tears, Castiel never saw the leg coming. The impact of his back hitting the ground winded him.

A weight descended onto him as he tried to roll away but stopped as a shadow rose behind what used to be Sherlock’s face and came down upon Them with a thud. Castiel tried to stand up but his muscles wouldn’t let him. Strong hands gripped him under the arms and hauled him up. Castiel’s vision focused and unfocused for a few moments before Dean’s face swam into existence.

“Cas, you ok?”

Castiel tried to speak but nothing came out. He cleared his throat and tried again, managing a croaky whisper. “I’m fine, Dean.”

Dean wasn’t convinced. Castiel was swaying slightly and bruises were beginning to form on his neck. Blood was running from what Dean could tell was a broken nose and he seemed to be having a little trouble trying to keep Dean in focus.

“Okay then. The others are in the Doctor’s TARDIS. All we have to do is – ”

His words were choked off as the Great Intelligence attacked him from behind. Dean swung his elbows around into Their kidneys and raised his fists to strike the back of Their neck when Their blow to his diaphragm doubled him up. The Great Intelligence’s knee met his face and he fell onto back, clutching his mouth. The taste of blood filled his senses and he quickly spat it out. Castiel flew through the fog towards the Great Intelligence, forcing Them to the ground and rolling off into the forest.

“Cas!”

Dean could hear them fighting. The fog had become so dense that he couldn’t see anything. Their grunts and hits came to him in a jumble of noises that bounced off every surface around him. He wanted to run and help Castiel, but he didn’t know where they were. If he tried to find them he might get lost, but if he didn’t search he could lose him. The sound of a body hitting the ground, and then silence, echoed through him.

“Cas?!... Cas, you ok?”

More silence answered him. He crawled to his hands and knees before a foot came out of the fog and connected with his ribs. Once, twice, three times the foot landed, each one sending stabbing pain through him. Dean grabbed out instinctively and caught it by the ankle, pulling it forward and off balance. Keeping a tight grip on it, Dean rolled, pulling it along with him and forcing the Great Intelligence onto the ground. He punched Them again and again until he had clamoured on top of Them. Dean could hear the dull thud and feel the bones break and move beneath his knuckles.

A hand struck out into his already injured ribs. Dean cried out in pain and was pushed onto his back. He rolled but was stopped as a foot landed on his throat. He froze. Dean could barely see Sherlock’s face. Dark shadows were forming across his skin and lines ran across his cheekbones, but Dean could see no remorse or hesitation.

He could see nothing to show that he was going to live.

         …………………………………………………………………………………..

“Where are they?”

Sam paced across the TARDIS floor. The Doctor was rushing around the console, occasionally pushing buttons and turning wheels and pulling levers. John had taken a close look at him when they arrived, but the Doctor was ignoring all of his instructions to stay still. He was now desperately hovering around him attempting to bandage his burned hand. It was not an easy task.

“I’m sure they’re doing their best.”

“Dean shouldn’t have gone alone. I should have followed him – ”

“ – Doctor, I need you to stay still – ”

“ – Can’t we drive this to them?”

“It doesn’t work that way, Sam.” The Doctor reached over to pull on something. A faint hissing sound could be heard. When they had arrived, Dean had bolted off in into the forest again to find Castiel. Sam had wanted to go, but Dean told him that he had to stay back and protect the others. But they had already gotten to the TARDIS, so surely they would be safe and Dean would need him more. He was surprised to find out that the TARDIS was bigger on the inside, but he wasn’t distracted for long. There were more pressing matters. Sam strode to the Doctor’s side.

“We can’t stand here doing nothing!”

“ – Doctor, please! – ”

“And we won’t – here, Sam, hold this – we just need to – OW!”

“That’s what happens if you don’t stay still.”

“John!”

“What? It’s not my fault – ”

A loud crash interrupted the frenzied conversation between them. They looked at each other before carefully heading towards the railing. There, lying injured and cursing, was Dean and Castiel. John and Sam bounded towards them as the Doctor turned on the TARDIS’s security system. Sam helped Dean up after he tried to get up by himself and fell back in pain. Dean looked horrible, Sam thought, and Castiel didn’t look any better. He could tell that They had tried to strangle him more than once and that They had beaten them both repeatedly. Heat rose within him and he swore that if They ever got close to them again, They would be facing a very angry Sam.

“Cas. What happened?”

“I tried to transport Dean and myself here before the Great Intelligence could kill us, but it seems as though my aim was a little off.”

“It looks as if They beat you senseless.”

“If it wasn’t for Dean, then I would be, as you say, ‘senseless’. Although I doubt anyone could ever hit anyone so much that they would lose all their senses.”

Sam gave up on Castiel and turned to his brother instead. “Dean, are you ok? What happened?”

“It was just a small fight, Sammy, I’m fine.”

“I don’t think you should be walking around, Dean.”

“I’ve had worse.”

John sighed as he saw Dean heave himself up. He knew the extent of Dean’s injuries and knew how much pain he would be in just by moving. It would seem that the only thing greater than his pain was his stubbornness. He took Castiel by the arm and led him back up to the console and sat him down, Sam and Dean just behind him. “Where’s Sherlock?” John’s voice echoed through the TARDIS. Dean and Castiel exchanged glances. John stared at Dean. “Where is Sherlock?” he repeated slowly.

“The Great Intelligence still possessed him. There was nothing we could do.”

“Are you saying that he’s still out there? That you left him there?”

“Better than in here.”

“But what about Castiel? Can’t he…” Joh held out his hand waved it uncertainly towards Castiel. “… un-possess him? I mean, he is an angel after all.”

“I couldn’t John –”

“You see, John, that only works on demons and the Great Intelligence, while a parasite, is not a demon.”

“Then what do we do? We can’t leave him here!”

“I agree. But what I want to know is: why are you being so quiet, Doc?” All eyes swivelled to the Doctor. He stared back.

“What do you mean, Dean?”

“You’ve always been rather talkative especially when it comes to things you know a lot of. What aren’t you telling us?”

The Doctor bowed his head. They would never let it go. He didn’t want to tell them and get their hopes crashing down into the centre of the planet, but he had to be honest with them. He owed them that much.

“What it comes to dealing with telekinetically controlled beings in the Great Intelligence’s sway, then I only know of one way to release them.” He looked up and found John’s questioning eyes. “Death. I don’t know of anyone who has survived Their control.”

“No.” John shook his head defiantly, refusing to hear what he had just heard. “No. We are not killing Sherlock, there has to be another way.”

“We’re not killing him – ” The Doctor started before Dean interrupted.

“John, take a good look at him; that is not Sherlock. And while there is still the Great Intelligence around he will never be Sherlock.”

“Then we find the Great Intelligence and kill it.”

“Have you not been listening?! They cannot be killed. The Doc would have already done it if he could.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Are you saying that there is a way to kill Them?” John’s chest rose in hope, but the Doctor’s words deflated him.

“No. Just that if there was a way you can’t rely on the fact that I would’ve done it. There have to be another way.”

“We’d love to hear it, then.” John stood fast as Dean stared at him in the Doctor’s silence. Sam interrupted them.

“Sherlock is lost, John. Believe me, if we could save him then we would, but I don’t know how we would. Not without hurting him more.”

“We can think of something,” John said as Dean sighed in annoyance. “We’re smart, we can work it out.”

“Sherlock is dead. Whether by us or by Them, he can’t survive this. If we want to survive, then we have to sacrifice him and leave now. Are you sure your ‘ship’ can get us out of here, Doc?”

“Fine then.” John looked down and swallowed his fury before facing Dean again. “Is that it? Is that the decision? Then make sure you don’t leave until I’m fully outside.”

“John, They’ll kill you.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not leaving him.”

The silence was broken by Sam’s low voice. “You can’t have Holmes without his Watson… and you can’t have Watson without his Holmes.”

The Doctor nodded. “I agree with John. We can’t leave without at least trying. But we’ll need your help, Dean. Will you help us?”

The Doctor saw Dean shake his head. He knew what Dean was thinking. It was practically suicide to fight now, weakened as they are. It was better strategically to leave while they still could. But the Doctor believed that, despite his protests, Dean wanted to save Sherlock. He didn’t want to see Sherlock die any more than himself and John, but Dean had a habit of trying to protect and look out for everyone, especially Sam. They might be able to save Sherlock, but at what cost?

Dean suddenly smiled and faced Sam.

“Sammy, I want you at the door. Keep an eye open for Them and tell me when They arrive. Cas, listen in and see if you can pick up anything. The Great Intelligence won’t let us go without a fight. Doctor! Do you keep any weapons around here?”

“No, Dean. I find they only complicate matters.”

“Dammit! Ok, John, Doc, we need to find this thing’s weakness and attack it. Doc, what do we know?”

“There is very little we can do for Sherlock without finding out where the Great Intelligence is. You find the source, you can help the branches.”

“What would They look like?”

“In my dealings with Them, They could be anything. They have taken many forms over the years.”

“Any favourites?”

“Only a three sided pyramid completely made up of control spheres.”

“I don’t remember seeing any pyramids.”

“Neither do I, which is why I think They’ve taken a different form, although I don’t know which one.”

“What forms have They taken in the past?”

“Well, John, there was the time They appeared as brightly glowing slime, then there came the poisonous web and fungus that I found in the London Underground. Then there was also the time when They were inside every machine in the city, and the time that They were a very… dense…fog…” His voice drifted off. They looked at each other. Then they looked down at the ground. A faint covering of fog coming in from the open door played at their feet.

They jolted into action. The Doctor ran to the console, searching and eventually finding the button to turn on the TARDIS’s interior ventilation system. Dean and John ran for the door where Sam stood frozen.

“Sam, move! They’re in the fog! We have to close the door! Sam!... Sammy?”

Sam hadn’t moved. He had been watching out for Sherlock, the sound of the bickering behind him turning into background noise and his flashlight sweeping the forest, when he saw him. The light from the torch had turned his eyes red and his face had lit up into a maniacal grin. Sam had been sure that he hadn’t been there two seconds ago. The fog had clung onto his shoulders like a cape and drifted off his face and hands like blood. Then he had advanced. The blood from his injuries had glistened and dripped down his face, colouring his teeth and framing his cheekbones. Shadows had thrown his dead eyes in relief. He had walked slowly – lurching at every second step – his foot dragging across the ground.

Dean grabbed Sam by the shoulder and pulled him inside. The loss of light from Sam’s torch covered the Great Intelligence in complete darkness. John slammed the door behind them and locked it, pulling off his jumper and shoving it underneath the door to block the gap. He turned to see Dean trying to get Sam to talk to him.

“Sammy?! What’s wrong? What did you see?”

Sam gave his brother a grim expression.

“They are here.”

 


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter twenty one:

The Doctor ran to the TARDIS console and turned on the scanner screen. Sherlock’s manic eyes filled the screen, his blood drenched smile causing shivers to run down his spine.

“Doctor…”

The Doctor glanced at the others as Sherlock’s warped voice drifted through the TARDIS. He lent down and flicked the intercom switch.

“What?”

“Come to us, Doctor.”

“If you really think I’m going to leave the TARDIS then you’re dumber than I thought.”

“You will come to us, Doctor. We have one of your companions. He will die if you don’t.”

“You’re not going to kill the only body available to you.”

“Ah, but Doctor, you are going off the understanding that our want for existence exceeds our hate for you. Are you confident in this belief?”

The Doctor hung his head and emitted a small puff of breath. He wasn’t confident. He knew of the Great Intelligence’s hatred for him. It was Their hatred that caused all this. It was Their hatred which got Sherlock into this position. It all came down to him. It always did.

“I’ll have to think it through –”

“You have one minute, Doctor, or this body will die.”

The Doctor shut off the screen and faced the others. Sam saw the look on his face and his brows came together. “You’re not seriously thinking of going out there?”

“Sherlock will die if I don’t, Sam.”

“Can we at least think about this? You’ll die!”

“There’s always a time for everyone.”

“But now’s not it!” Sam looked at the group for support. “Tell him!”

John stared at the floor, his arms crossed in front of him.

“Sherlock will die.”

“But the Doc’s the only one who can drive the TARDIS and get us home.” Dean interjected.

“ _But Sherlock will_ _die_.”

“Do you have any ideas on how to save him? Or better yet, both of them?”

“No.”

Dean nodded abruptly, quickly glancing over to the conflicted faces of Sam and the Doctor. He couldn’t see Castiel behind him, but he could feel his intense stare bore into the back of his head. John’s face in front of him was set in hopeless determination. There was nothing they could do for Sherlock, they both knew that. If the Doctor had no ideas then what hope did they have? But Dean knew that, deep down at a fundamental level, John and he were alike. Two soldiers, both screwed up by the wars they’ve fought and both struggling to cope with it, attaching themselves to another. Dean with Sam and, recently, Castiel. And John with Sherlock. John was willing to die for Sherlock, that part was obvious, and it was an attitude Dean understood too well. He suddenly felt closer to the man then he had before. John opened his mouth, presumably to unleash his fury, when Dean beat him to it. “Good, cause I do.”

Dean smiled slightly at the surprised look on John’s face before giving orders as quickly as he could.

“Doc, can you put on the fans on full blast? We’ll need something to get the fog away from the door. Stay by the console and get ready to lift off as soon as we’ve got Sherlock in. John, Sam, get ready for a fight. Cas, you too. I don’t want to hurt Sherlock any more than is necessary, but I would rather him have a broken nose than one of you lying on the ground dead.”

“Dean, what exactly are we doing?” Dean headed straight to the door a little unsteadily because of his injuries with a confused John and Sam trailing behind him. He turned with a smile on his face.

“We’re going to get Sherlock back.”

He unlocked the doors, swung them open and strode out. With a final glance at each other, Sam and John followed with Castiel bringing up the rear. Sam gravitated towards John’s side as they stood in the empty clearing. He didn’t know how John was going to react to seeing Sherlock in this state and he gently laid a hand onto the much smaller man’s shoulder. He didn’t say anything but Sam could feel the slight ease in tension in his muscles.

Dean stared out into the fog-saturated area around them. At least the fans were working well, he thought as the small clearing of clear air slowly grew. He couldn’t see Them. Dean knew They were out there. They wouldn’t have left and he was sure They wouldn’t have killed Sherlock already. Not while They could still inflict pain. Dean cupped his hands and tried to grab Their attention.

“HEY, DOUCHEBAG! TIME TO GET YOUR FUGLY FACE OUT HERE!”

The mocking silence was his only reply.

“I don’t have time for this.” He muttered. “Cas?”

“They’re out there, Dean.”

“Awesome.” He turned around. “Then there’s something you should know! If you want the Doc, you gotta go through us!”

More silence. Dean surveyed the area around them.

“Are you even listening, you arrogant sons of – ”

Sam’s hand hit his arm, catching his attention and turning him around. Sherlock’s body was a mess. How he had kept on going at them with those injuries Dean didn’t know. People usually lie on the ground in pain at that point. There was the broken leg, messed up mouth, and what he thought was a fractured eye socket and possibly broken ribs. It was hard to tell because Sherlock wasn’t moving how a normal person with those injuries would have moved. He just ignored them, except for the leg which was slightly obstructing his ability to walk.

“Such brave words from such small men. Is the Doctor truly such a coward as to refuse to face us? And instead send a bunch of boys in his place?”

“The Doctor didn’t send us, we chose to do this. The Doc’s our friend. So is that man you’re controlling. We want him back.”

The Great Intelligence’s mouth twitched up a bit. “We don’t think so. It’s so useful. And the brain it has! Far superior than the rest of you. It’s a pity we’ll have to kill it. After all, we did ask for the Doctor.”

A flash darted across Dean’s vision as John collided with the Great Intelligence. They both stumbled for a bit before falling to the ground. Dean rushed forward and hauled John up. The Great Intelligence pounced to Their feet and launched Themselves to Dean’s right, colliding into the chest of a running Sam.

They wrapped Their arms around his torso and twisted him onto the ground, using gravity to force Them on top. Sam tried to gasp as the breath was knocked out of him. The ground beneath him was cold and lumpy, but he didn’t pay much attention to it due to the Great Intelligence on top of him attempting to reach his throat, Sam deflecting Their attacks with his arms. Occasionally a stray hit would connect with his face or torso, but he ignored them and tried to roll away when suddenly he felt Their weight disappear as Castiel grabbed Them around the waist and threw Them away.

Dean raced to the Great Intelligence as They climbed to Their feet. Dean’s punch was diverted by Their arm and They twisted to deliver a backhand strike to his head. Dean dodged and struck out with his foot, but the Great Intelligence stopped it with Their leg and grabbed it, falling to Their knees and bringing Their fist around into his knee. Dean heard something click before the pain swept through him like a tsunami. He cried out and fell to the ground, clutching his knee. He watched the Great Intelligence advance towards him. Movement flickered in the corner of Dean’s eye and he saw John sneak up behind Them, but something must have warned Them as turned to meet him.

John punched out at Them and then followed it up with strikes to the ribs, head, and kidneys. They doubled up, but as John attacked, the Great Intelligence blocked, grabbed his arm and pulled. At the same time, Their hand flew at his face, causing him to jerk back instinctively. He heard a pop and a sharp intense pain burst from his shoulder. He cried out in pain but struck out with his foot against Their already injured leg. He was rewarded with a crunch. The Great Intelligence let go and John staggered back, clutching his arm. He took a breath and popped it back in, grunting with the pain. The Great Intelligence glared at him. Their leg was definitely a hindrance now.

They turned suddenly as a fist flew in the air behind Them. They grabbed it and pulled. Sam stumbled towards Them but dodged to the side at the responding punch. Instead, he let Their momentum carry Them towards him, kneeing Them in the chest and then kicking Their legs out from beneath Them. He forced Them to the ground and beckoned towards Castiel.

“Cas! Knock him out.”

“I cannot.”

The Great Intelligence squirmed beneath him and Sam almost lost his grip on The Great Intelligence’s hands.

“Yes you can. I’ve seen you do it!”

“No, Sam. I cannot use my powers.”

“Why not? Are They interfering?”

“I cannot use them because if I do then my fear will become real.”

Sam almost fell over as The Great Intelligence temporarily broke free and clipped him on the chin. He grabbed Their wrists and forced them onto Their chest. “What?!”

“I can’t let that happen!”

“Cas! They used your fear to stop you! Your fear will only become real if you let it! Using your powers will not prevent it from happening, but your choices will. Making Sherlock fall asleep will not hurt him. Cas, please!”

Castiel placed his fingers on Their temple. Sherlock grew limp as he lost consciousness. Sam panted as he looked up at Castiel.

“What was that about?”

Castiel couldn’t make Sam’s gaze.

“Well done Sammy, Cas. You too, John.” Dean nodded to Sherlock. “Let’s get him inside.” He lent to lift Sherlock up when he froze. A quiet yet familiar chuckle was coming from John’s direction.

“You boys didn’t really think we’d be that easy to outwit, did you?”

Dean looked at John’s feet. They were completely hidden by fog.

“Sammy, get Sherlock inside.”

“Dean – ”

“Do it. Get Cas to help you.”

Dean’s eyes never left John’s. They now held the same manic gleam in them that had previously been seen in Sherlock’s. They laughed again.

“Just give up.”

The Great Intelligence burst forward. Their first punch headed for Dean’s ribs, which he parried, but had to dodge quickly as Their follow up punch flew towards his throat. Dean gave ground. Their punches came in quick succession, quicker than he had first given them credit for. Despite this, he had a slight desire to simply lay his hand onto Their head and hold Them at arm’s length, but dismissed it. That position could place a person into a whole lot of trouble. He deflected Their punches and timed his retaliation carefully. He waited until They had made a wide rib shot on him, allowing him to stop it with his forearm and step closer. Their punch from the other side was stopped by his upper arm as he reached for Their shoulder and pulled Them close. He kneed Them in the chest and followed it up with a punch to the face as They staggered back. He hooked an ankle around Their own and watched as They fell to the ground. He stepped towards Them as They raised Their hands submissively.

“Dean, wait, stop! It’s me, John!”

Dean didn’t believe him, until an unseen punch came out of nowhere and flat lined him. He shook his head groggily and tried to hoist himself up.

“Nice shot, Dean. Do not think you’ll be able to do that again.”

Sam’s imposing form slowly made its way towards him. Dean looked at John and saw that the gleam had left his eyes. The Great Intelligence had moved on. He quickly searched for Sherlock and Castiel but he couldn’t find them. Either they made it to the TARDIS or the Great Intelligence had finished them off. Either way, Dean could expect no help from them now.

Without losing eye contact, Dean got to his feet, careful to stay in their ‘clearing’. The Great Intelligence advanced. Dean lashed out, but his fist was caught in mid-air. He tried to yank it away, but They only tightened Their grip. Dean arched his body away as a fist swung at his stomach. Dean stabilized himself and clenched himself up, diving into the Great Intelligence’s chest with his shoulder.

As the Great Intelligence fell on Their back, a blow to the back of Dean’s knee made him crumble. He had the presence of mind to roll away before John’s foot could smash his head in. He lent back and caught Their foot, bringing it with him as he continued to rise, and threw John away.

Sam rose. He saw Dean’s throw against John and headed towards his brother, ready to help him fight back. This was why he completely missed the backwards kick to his thigh. He bent down and dodged the backhand punch trying to connect with his head from Dean’s direction. The Great Intelligence struck again, aiming for his head, which Sam stopped, and hit his ribs in the opening Sam left. Sam stumbled back but Spartan kicked the advancing Great Intelligence in the chest. As They sunk to the ground, Sam became aware that he could see John over Their head.

“John! Get inside! Get in the TARDIS, NOW!” John hesitated. “Go! I’ll be right behind you with Dean!” John stared at the two brothers and nodded. Sam saw him leave. “Alright, Jerk.” He muttered. “Time to go.”

Sam tackled the Great Intelligence towards the TARDIS’s open doors. They had travelled quite a bit before he began to feel it. Another consciousness was leaking into his own. Soon it would begin to take over. He needed Castiel and he needed him now. Sam’s feet began to slow down despite his urgings. His arms started to let go of Dean and he had to resist the compelling urge to attack him. He had to stop himself. He had to resist.

A feather-like touch brushed his forehead and he fell into blackness.

“John, now!”

John slammed the doors closed behind the two falling figures and stuffed every gap with cloths. The Doctor pulled levers and played with switches on the console. A wheezing, groaning noise filled the room and the Time Rotor rose and fell in time with it. Everybody held onto something until it stopped.

And even though they had no idea what just happened, they all felt inexplicably safe.

 


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter twenty two:

A strange humming noise filled Sherlock’s senses. The regular linear-pressed points in his back told him that he was lying on a grate, although why he couldn’t remember. Coloured light peeked in from underneath his eyelids and familiar voices came to him in waves.

“How long will he be out for, Castiel?”

“Hard to say, Doc. It changes.”

“Dean’s right. The effects do vary; however, it is not worth worrying over. Sherlock can already hear us. It won’t be long before he wakes up completely.”

Footsteps grew closer to him, but stopped just before him. A cool hand rested on his forehead. “Sherlock?” Sherlock relaxed, releasing the worry he didn’t know he had. A faint smile softened his face. He opened his eyes.

“John.” He allowed a crease to form on his brow. “Where are we?”

“You remember the Doctor’s TARDIS? We’re on it.”

“And where is ‘it’?”

“That’s a bit harder to explain.” Sherlock turned his face to look at the Doctor as he joined the conversation. “The TARDIS, rather than a simple plane, is actually a time machine. With it I can travel anywhere through time and space. When the TARDIS is in motion, it can be hard to lock onto one specific spot. We’re somewhere in the Time Vortex and nowhere near the Great Intelligence, does that help?”

Sherlock looked at John. He understood nothing, but John’s look warned him against asking. _Later_ , it said. _You’re not in the right frame of mind now_. “Yes. Yes, it does.”

John gently helped Sherlock into a sitting position. Sherlock’s muscles were stiff, as if he had just run around London and then attempted to do backflips through the apartment. He glanced at his leg, which was giving him the most trouble, and was surprised to see it bandaged. John saw his reaction.

“It was severely broken by the time I got to it. I did the best I could before Cas could look at it.” John glanced over at Castiel trying to hide his pride. Sam had told him what was going through Castiel’s mind and thought that John would be able to talk to him, being a Doctor and all. Together with help from Sam, they were able to convince him that his powers as an angel were not liabilities and not a danger to anyone except those who he chose to hurt. If they were used as they were meant to – and how Castiel usually used them – they could be a great help. _Every good has a potential to go bad_ , they told him, _but that doesn’t mean that you have to hide them away in fear. Control them, don’t conceal them. Don’t fear who you are._ John thought that Castiel appeared to grow in confidence, and even though healing Sherlock and everyone else was a small step, it was a large bound in getting him back to his old self. “I didn’t know how you’d feel, so I left it on. How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Just a bit stiff.”

Sherlock laid his head in his hands and rubbed his temples. Strange images were fighting for room in his mind. The strangest of them all consisted of him attacking John. He would never do that! Would he? He shuffled the images around so that he could organise them. Start from the beginning: what did he know was real? He remembered everything from their arrival to meeting the Eternals. He knew he had helped burn them and he could see the Doctor lying broken in front of him. Then things began to get hazy. They had been running… away from something? No, some _one_. Someone was back. And he had been fighting. He hadn’t wanted to, but he had.

“Who were we running away from and who was I fighting?”

Sherlock didn’t look up. The pictures were slippery and he was trying to retain as many as he could. It was just so hard through the mess that had become his mind. He felt rather than heard the tense silence in the TARDIS before the clanging of the Doctor’s footsteps broke it. He knelt in front of him.

“You don’t remember?”

“I do… partly. It’s like I’m trying to think through a fog. Nothing’s clear and everything’s changing.”

John turned and whispered fiercely to the Doctor.

“No, John, I don’t think so. Mental and physical control does things to people and Sherlock had been in Their control longer than any of us. Give him time. He’ll be ok.”

The Doctor sprung to his feet and walked back to the console. Sherlock grabbed John’s arm as he moved to go after the Doctor. “John. I didn’t hurt anyone, did I?”

John stared into Sherlock’s concerned face and didn’t know what to say. Even though Sherlock put on a persona of indifference and coldness, he knew differently. Sherlock could be incredibly fragile, just like anyone could be. The knowledge that he hurt anyone seriously, especially if he knew he’d hurt John, wouldn’t help. He couldn’t lie, but he couldn’t bring himself to describe what happened.

“The Great Intelligence wasn’t gone. They took control over you and forced you to fight. But we’re fine.”

“But I hurt you.”

“You had no choice, Sherlock. We knew They were going to fight back. We’re just glad They didn’t decide to kill you.” John repositioned himself to sit beside Sherlock, leaning his back against the railing. “Relax. We’re safe and the Doctor said he’s going to take us home.”

“But before that happens,” Dean cut in, hopping down from his perch on the railing opposite them. “He’s going to answer a few questions.”

The Doctor faced him, unsurprised. They always had questions. “I’ll answer what I can, but be aware that there may be a few which I can’t.”

“Alright. How did we get here?”

“In order to pick up the TARDIS the Great Intelligence needed the Eternal’s ability to teleport minds and interrupt teleportation waves. This was how They found the Eternals in the first place. They were accidently picked up by them during one of their recruiting searches for one of their races, which I have warned them against doing multiple times. It was this interference that They used to grab the TARDIS. You three,” here he gestured to Dean, Sam and Castiel, “must have been teleporting at the same time, therefore also getting transferred.”

“But what about us? All we had was a box.”

“A box which was created by the Eternals for the Great Intelligence. The Eternals can create anything once the thought is placed in their heads. The Great Intelligence could have placed an automatic transportation device that only activated when it was opened, or it could have been timed.”

“But why us? Why us specifically?”

“Well They hated me and you three just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. As to you two…” He turned to Sherlock. “Do you still have it? The box, do you still have it?”

Sherlock swapped a questioning glance with John before turning to answer. “No. Why?”

“I wanted to see if there was anything unusual about it. How much of it do you remember? Was there anything out of place about this box? Anything that could tell us of the intended recipient.”

“Anything out of place besides the glowing and its habit of transporting people?” Sherlock muttered, but only loud enough for John to hear, who ignored it.

“There was a tag.” John said. “On the back was handwritten information about one of our previous cases. We assumed it was put there by the secret service who gave it to us in the first place. However, it was a gift card, and on the other side it said ‘For You’, with a small triangle in the corner.”

The Doctor clapped in response. “Triangles. So not an accident.”

“But if it wasn’t an accident, then why was it addressed ‘For You’?” Sam responded frustratingly. “Who was it for?”

“The Doctor’s companion.”

All heads swivelled to Castiel.

“I heard Them, before we met. It was originally intended for a companion of the Doctor’s, whether they are future or present I don’t know. The Great Intelligence were surprised to see you two appear instead, and They weren’t happy.”

“But,” Sherlock raised a hand as if to stop the torrent of words that were about to come out. “If They had no idea that we were turning up, then why did They try to kill us when we first arrived? And why did turning on a light help?”

The Doctor took over the conversation once more. “The obvious answer would be because They wanted to get you out of the way. They wanted me and They didn’t care about you. As to why They kept you alive, who knows? Maybe They didn’t know who you were before you turned on the light or They didn’t want you to see Them in the fog. It would be rather strange to see the fog trying to suffocate you, and once knowing this you could have easily avoided Them.”

“So you don’t know.” Dean’s smirk radiated from his face.

“Fine! I don’t know the Great Intelligence’s minds and I only know what The Mariner and the Eternals told me.”

“Where are they?” John stirred from his reflective state at the mention of Eternals. “The Eternals. Where are they and what happened to them? I didn’t quite understand it all before, something about transferring?”

“Transference, John, transference. It’s the act of going from a physical to a metaphysical state. The Eternals belong and live out of time. Dying and death is within time; it’s a time-based event. The Eternals cannot die. By burning their physical bodies you allowed their metaphysical entity to disappear back to where they belong. They could escape because the Great Intelligence can only control physical beings. But don’t worry. They can turn back whenever they want.”

“They’re ok, then?”

“Yeah, they’re fine. They’ll be back to their usual god-complexed selves again.”

“So what now, Doc?”

“Now? Now, we have to try and find out how to get you back home.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard then.”

The Doctor agreed. Just a few seconds and they would be home. But the memory of loneliness, of sitting in this very room by himself with no one else, drifted to the forefront of his mind. They were fun and worthy people to have around. They were smart and, he had to admit, if it wasn’t for every man in this room he probably would have died. Although he may have to talk to them about the gun thing. He smiled.

“However…” he began. “… all time and space. Every planet, every part of history, every future, lying out there ready to explore. And this is the TARDIS. You can go home the exact time you left, no matter how long you stay here.” He looked around the group, his smile growing in excitement. “Would you like to travel with me?”

He watched as they whispered amongst themselves, smiles flickering across their faces before they accepted.

“Brilliant. Time to go searching!” He ran to the console and flicked a few controls before noticing the state of his companions. He added, “that is, after we get some rest.”

There was a muffled groan of agreement and there was a small amount of confusion as the Doctor tried to direct them into different rooms and the kitchen, which Dean asked for and headed directly to. Once everything had been sorted and all the pillows and blankets had been distributed and the wardrobe had been rummaged through for pyjamas, the Doctor returned to the console, the heart of the TARDIS. He closed his eyes and listened to her purr. The stillness and peace that came from her was a welcome change from the past adventure. He took a deep breath and allowed himself to relax and calm down. He subconsciously began to time his breaths.

_In…2…3…4…Out…2…3…4…In…2…3…4…Out…2…3…4…In…_

“Doctor?”

The Doctor jumped at the silence-shattering voice, but relaxed as he made out Castiel’s face. “Yes, Cas? What can I do for you? I thought you would be sleeping like the others.”

“Angels do not sleep. We have no need to.”

“Oh.” Castiel’s eyes narrowed in concern which made the Doctor a little uncomfortable. “What?”

“Are you ok, Doctor?”

“What? Of course I am! We prevented the Great Intelligence from rising again and nobody got killed. I’m feeling great!”

“I heard your fear.” The Doctor froze, his hand hovering above a switch and his smile fixed on his face. “I saw it. I know what They said to you. I tried not to listen, but it’s a bit hard when you’re telepathic. That planet we were on. They said it was your home, but you said that you had destroyed your home planet.” He moved closer. “Doctor, where were we?”

The Doctor swallowed and jerked into action.

“I don’t know, Castiel. The Great Intelligence could have been lying and made the whole thing up. I wouldn’t put it past Them.”

“Doctor.”

The Doctor bowed his head. He tried to form the words but they wouldn’t come out. Instead, he looked Castiel in the eye and remembered. He remembered the feeling of isolation as he walked through the desert, the burden of the moment perched over his shoulder in his sack, and the sense of loss as he left the TARDIS behind him. He could remember the feel of the button beneath his hand and the slight pressure as it gave way. He wasn’t on Gallifrey, but he knew the outcome; Gallifrey was no more, and it was his doing. There was no way that even the Eternals could undo that.

The Doctor went back to turning switches and pulling levers until he couldn’t feel Castiel’s presence anymore. He slumped and rested his head against the Time Rotor, where he stayed for a while with his eyes closed. If anyone was watching him at that moment, they would have seen his lips move silently and would have thought him mad. But he was talking to her. And she would listen. She always did.

He straightened up, took a deep breath and looked at her lovingly. “Alright, old girl.” He whispered as he lightly stroked her. “Take me somewhere fun.” Then he took control of the TARDIS and steered her towards the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has read this, kudos'd it and/or bookmarked it. It has been a long but satisfying journey and I'm honoured that you guys were willing to stay with it. Nightmares was my first fanfic and I'm glad to say that I enjoyed it so much that I've already got another in progress.
> 
> A special thanks to my betas: Jess, Maddie and Ben, and those who read it for fun.


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